B 


PR 

4970 

M.6  05 


j^only; 


M^-^M 


BY 

THE    AUTHOR 

OF 

A 

TRAP 

TO 

CATCH  A 

SUNBEAM. 

BOSTON 

AND    CAMBRIDGE  : 

JAMES 

MUNROE    AND 

COMPANY. 

1850. 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by 

James  Munroe  and  Company, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of 

Massaciiusetts. 


BOSTON  : 

THURPTON,   TORRY   AND    COMPANY, 

DEVONSHIRE   STREET. 


^'ONLY." 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  BRIGHT  lazy  summer  day  in  June  is  one 
of  the  most  delightful  things  to  those,  who 
can  enjoy  it  thoroughly,  beneath  the  shade 
of  some  fine  old  trees,  the  light  breeze  play- 
ing amongst  the  leaves  and  the  little  birds 
singing  their  sweet  songs  gently  to  one 
another,  as  though  they  would  not  disturb 
the  silent  repose  in  which  in  these  glaringly 
hot  days  Nature  seems  wrapt;  but  in  the 
scorching  streets  who  can  enjoy  such  weath- 
er? there  is  no  comfort  save  in  a  room  with 
the  blinds  closely  drawn,  and  the  windows 
wide  open,  even  then  unable  to  obtain  any 
thing  like  pure  or  refreshing  air  from  the 
loaded  atmosphere. 

In  a  house  in  one  of  the  best  streets  in 
town,  the  heat  on  a  day  such  as  this  seems 


4  "ONLY/' 

to  have  quite  overpowered  a  very  delicate 
looking  woman,  who  is  extended  on  a  couch 
in  a  small  but  prettily  furnished  drawing- 
room;  the  windows  are  open,  the  curtains 
closely  drawn  to  exclude  the  burning  sun. 
A  rustic  flower-stand  in  the  centre  window 
is  filled  with  plants,  their  perfume  scenting 
the  room  almost  too  powerfully,  for  there  is 
no  fresh  air  coming  from  open  fields  or 
breezy  mountains  to  mingle  with  their  over- 
powering sweetness.  The  lady  has  a  book 
in  her  lap,  but  she  is  not  reading;  one 
transparently  white  hand  is  resting  on  the 
back  of  the  sofa,  and  with  the  other  she  is 
fanning  herself  with  a  large  fan  of  ostrich 
feathers.  The  door  is  suddenly  thrown 
open,  and  a  fine  boy  about  eight  years  old 
rushes  in,  in  a  loose  brown  holland  blouse, 
his  long  dark  hair  pushed  back  from  his 
forehead,  his  collar  thrown  open,  displaying 
a  very  white  throat,  whiter  still  from  con- 
trast with  his  sunburnt  but  very  handsome 
face. 

'•Oh  !  Mamma  dear,"  he  said,  as  well  as 
he  could  speak  for  want  of  breath,  ."make 
haste  and  give  me  a  shilling,  please,  I  want 


"ONLY."  5 

it  for  such  a  poor  boy  without  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  so  hot  and  thirsty,  and  his 
feet  all  blistered,  Mamma;  he  was  crying 
for  some  drink,  and  I  've  given  him  such  a 
lot  of  water,  and  now  I  want  to  give  him  a 
shilling,  for  he  must  go  to  Wimbledon,  he 
says,  and  he  must  walk  because  he's  got 
no  money,  and  he  can't  walk  with  his  poor 
feet  all  blisters ;  make  haste,  dear  Ma,  I  'm 
afraid  he  '11  go." 

'•My  dear  boy,"  answered  his  mother,  in 
a  weak  and  languid  voice,  ''I  really  cannot 
allow  it,  Stuart."  "Oh!  Ma,  dear,  only  a 
shilling,  do." 

She  slowly  drew  a  purse  from  her  pocket, 
saying,  "I  think  a  shilling  is  too  much  for 
you  to  give  him ;  remember  it  is  all  you 
have,  and  you  may  see  some  poor  creature 
worse  off,  who  needs  your  help;  I  think 
sixpence  is  plenty  to  give  to  a  boy  you 
know  nothing  of" 

'•  Oh  !  no  Ma,  give  it  me,  dear,  do  !  "  and 
snatching  it  from  his  mother  who  had  re- 
luctantly taken  it  from  the  purse,  he  flew 
out  of  the  room,  calling  out  "thank  you," 
as  he  slammed  the  door  after  him.  The 
1* 


'ONLY. 


poor  invalid  started  at  the  noise,  and  then 
said,  witli  a  heavy  sigh,  "  what  a  danger- 
ous disposition,  to  leave  with  a  small,  very- 
small  fortune,  and  a  young  sister  to  take 
care  of;  — my  poor  little  Edith,  and  I  have 
no  energy  nor  strength  to  correct  him,"  and 
again  she  sighed  heavily. 

The  door  re-opened,  but  much  more  gent- 
ly this  time,  and  a  little  girl  crept  in,  but 
seeing  her  mother  awake,  she  shut  the  door, 
and  rushing  to  her,  jumped  on  the  sofa  be- 
side her,  and  kissed  her  repeatedly;  no  one 
could  have  doubted  the  relationship;  be- 
tween Edith  Vernon  and  her  mother  the 
hkeness  was  remarkable,  save  that  no  trace 
of  illness  or  suffering  was  on  the  laughing 
face  of  the  child,  and  the  bright  hue  of 
health  and  happiness  sparkled  in  those  lus- 
trous dark  eyes.  "  Dear  Mamma,  where  is 
Stuart?  I  have  been  waiting  for  him  so 
long,"  said  the  child.  "He  is  gone  to  give 
a  beggar  boy  his  shilling,  my  love."  "What, 
a  whole  shilling.  Mamma,  all  his  money; — 
how  good  of  Stuart !  " 

The  mother  smiled,  and  with  her  thin 
white  hand  stroked  the  child's  rosy  face : 


''ONLY.''  7 

there  was  something  m  this  simple  praise, 
that  gratified  her;  she  had  felt,  that  it  was 
not  quite  good  of  Stuart  to  be  heedless  of 
her  advice,  or  quite  right  of  her  to  permit 
him  to  be  so,  but  this  innocent  meed  of 
praise  from  his  little  affectionate  sister,  of- 
fered her  an  excuse  for  her  own  inertness, 
and  looking  at  it  in  another  light,  she 
thought  it  was  good  of  Stuart  to  give  all 
his  money  to  the  beggar,  and  was  glad  she 
had  not  prevented  his  so  doing.  Poor  Mrs. 
Vernon!  the  ease  with  which  she  could  si- 
lence the  gentle  instigation  of  conscience, 
in  this  and  in  still  more  serious  instances, 
had  been  a  rock  on  which  she  had  wrecked 
all  her  happiness :  against  that  truthful 
monitor  she  had  married  Stuart  Yernon, 
knowing  as  she  did  his  reckless  expenditure, 
striving  to  drown  "  the  still  small  voice " 
which  whispered  such  extravagance  evi- 
denced a  want  of  principle;  but  Vernon 
was  handsome,  mixed  in  the  best  society, 
was  clever  and  amusing,  and  even  without 
the  excuse  of  love,  for  though  pleased  with 
him  she  had  not  had  time  to  love  him,  Ma- 
rian Harcourt  gave  her  hand  to  the  fasci- 
nating Stuart  Vernon. 


Soon,  too  soon  she  learnt  her  mistake,  but 
instead  of  exertmg  herself  to  correct  liim, 
using  her  influence  (for  he  really  loved  her 
very  much)  to  stay  this  ruinous  propensity, 
she  gave  in  to  him,  contented  always  to 
quiet  her  still  troublesome  conscience  with 
that  dangerous  word  "only,"  which  her 
husband  was  so  fond  of  using.  One  thing 
led  to  another,  deep  in  debt,  each  year  they 
became  more  and  more  involved,  till  at 
length  agitation  and  annoyance  complete- 
ly undermined  Marian's  naturally  delicate 
health,  and  she  became  a  confirmed  invalid. 
This  of  course  added  to  the  expenses:  Ver- 
non's gay  and  joyous  temper  became  sullen 
and  morose,  and  in  short,  happiness  winged 
her  flight  from  an  al?ode  where  no  prospect 
of  cheerfulness  or  content  could  exist;  till 
at  length,  Yernon,  unwilling  longer  to  wit- 
ness the  wreck  he  had  made,  left  his  home 
and  his  unhappy  wife,  to  seek  peace  and 
forgetfulness  abroad. 

His  plea  for  absence  was  to  retrieve  his 
fortune  by  some  employment,  and  poor 
Marian  credited  this  at  first,  but  as  months 
and  at  length  years  went  by,  and  still  he 


^'ONLY."  9 

came  not,  and  finally  ceased  to  write,  hope 
soon  followed  every  other  happy  feeling, 
and  with  poor  Medora,  she  felt,  "he  is  gone, 
and  I  am  desolate."  Her  children  failed  to 
console  her,  for  they  caused  her  too  much 
anxiety,  especially  as  Stuart  was  becoming 
the  counterpart  of  his  father ;  —  the  same 
joyous  manner,  the  same  reckless  disregard 
of  consequences,  and  the  same  habit  of 
acting  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  These 
impulses,  it  is  true,  were  all  or  mostly  all 
good,  and  had  he  possessed  an  energetic, 
strong-minded  mother,  he  would  have  event- 
ually been  a  fine  character;  but  alas!  for 
Stuart,  such  was  not  the  case,  and  the  faults 
of  the  child  were  in  the  right  way  to  become 
the  vices  of  the  man. 

About  an  hour  after  the  scene  I  have  re- 
lated, a  young  girl  was  hurrying  through 
one  of  the  narrow  streets  as  quickly  as  the 
overpowering  heat  would  permit  her:  though 
in  the  lower  walk  of  life,  there  was  a  su- 
periority about  her,  which  made  her  very 
interesting;  a  certain  refinement  of  fea- 
tures and  delicacy  of  appearance  altogether, 
which  seldom  belongs  to  the  poorer  class. 


10 


There  was  nothing  of  gaiety  about  her  face, 
and  the  objects  in  the  street  seemed  to  have 
no  attraction  for  her ;  with  her  head  down 
and  her  soft  brown  eyes  fixed  on  tlie  ground, 
she  sped  along  and  finally  turned  up  a  dirty 
street  in  which  numbers  of  children  were 
playing,  and  quarrelling,  and  stopped  before 
one  of  the  numerous  rag-shops,  which 
seemed  to  be  the  prevalent  trade  of  the 
neighborhood.  On  each  side  the  door  hung 
several  dresses  of  different  materials,  and 
over  the  door  a  huge  black  doll,  the  terror 
of  all  naughty  children  in  the  locality, 
whose  bursts  of  passion  were  effectually 
silenced  by  a  threat  of  being  given  up  to 
the  rapacity  of  the  "Black  Doll!"  Rows 
of  boots  and  shoes  lined  the  passage.  In 
the  centre  pane  of  the  window  filled  with 
bottles,  and  various  colored  rags,  was  a 
large  piece  of  paper,  on  which  was  written 
in  red,  yellow  and  blue,  "the  best  price 
given  for  linen  rags."  The  girl  entered, 
and  passing  through  the  little  close  shop 
into  a  small  parlor,;  (if  it  might  be  so  dig- 
nified.) was  greeted"*  by  a  loud  cry  of  wel- 
come from  three  or  four  children,  who  were 


11 


in  a  moment  clinging  about  her.  Seated 
by  the  window  was  a  strange  looking  man, 
who,  though  very  plain,  still  bore  some  re- 
semblance to  the  pretty  new  comer,  suffi- 
cient to  warrant  his  salutation  of  "Well, 
darter,"  which  he  uttered,  with  a  whiff  of 
tobacco  from  the  pipe  he  was  smoking. 
"Well,  father,  is  mother  out?"  asked  the 
girl.  "Lord  be  praised,  she  Ais,"  was  the 
significant  reply.  His  daughter  smiled  a 
sad  smile,  and  stooped  to  kiss  the  little  fat 
baby  who  had  been  pulling  at  her  dress  in 
its  anxiety  to  be  noticed. 

Martin  Rawdon  was  a  character,  and  a 
strange  one.  He  had  been  many  things  by 
turns,  but  nothing  long;  one  of  a  large  fam- 
ily of  children,  he  had  been  thrown  early 
on  the  world  to  seek  his  own  living,  but 
Martin  preferred  that  his  living  should  seek 
him,  and  made  no  effort  towards  indepen- 
dence, until  captivated  by  the  soft  brown 
eyes  of  an  opposite  neighbor;  he  then  felt 
that  the  pretty  baker's  daughter  would  not 
leave  her  comfortable  house  to  share  his 
wretched  garret,  so  he  must,  to  secure  him- 
self such   a  prize,   labor  to   procure   some 


12 


more  tempting  home  to  bring  her  to.  For 
a  few  weeks  he  really  did  work  hard,  and 
in  the  meanwhile  took  every  opportunity  of 
ingratiating  himself  with  the  gentle  Ellen ; 
and  notwithstanding  the  father's  remon- 
strances and  assurances  that  he  was  a  good- 
for-nothing  idle  fellow,  Ellen  '•  walked  out" 
with  him  on  the  following  Sunday,  and  in 
a  week  or  so  after  became  Mrs.  Martin 
Rawdon. 

For  a  short  time  all  went  on  pretty  well, 
and  Ellen  seemed  very  happy,  Martin  was 
so  good  humored  and  funny,  and  had  such 
a  vein  of  comic  humor,  with  which  he  en- 
livened the  evenings,  and  cheered  the  droop- 
ing spirits  of  his  wife,  when  a  fit  of  idleness 
had  deprived  them  of  sufficient  means  to 
find  even  necessaries.  Ellen  was  not  strong, 
and  when  two  or  three  children  came  to 
make  inroads  on  their  scanty  fare,  her 
health  and  spirits  grew  weaker  and  weaker, 
and  though  she  never  complained,  the  mute 
eloquence  of  her  pale  thin  face,  as  she  sat 
with  her  delicate  baby  in  her  arms,  when 
her  husband  returned  to  the  dry  bread  and 
water,  which  generally  formed  their  dinner, 


"ONLY."  13 

spoke  to  him  more  powerfully  than  words; 
but  still  his  spirits  failed  not,  and  he  would 
continue  making  jokes,  receiving  from  his 
wife  a  sickly  smile  in  return,  until  at  length 
the  struggle  was  too  much  for  her;  and  he 
returned  home  one  day  to  find  the  soft  eyes, 
which  had  never  looked  otherwise  than 
kindly  on  him,  closed  forever,  and  her 
frightened  children  screaming  in  vain  to 
"Mammy"  to  answer  them. 

Poor  Martin, — he  made  no  joke  on  this, 
but  laying  his  head  on  the  bed,  sobbed  till 
some  pitying  neighbor  took  him  away.  But 
it  was  not  Martin's  nature  to  be  wretched 
long,  and  he  thought  at  last,  as  he  had 
married  once  for  love,  he  would  marry  now 
for  comfort.  Making  acquaintance  with  a 
lady  who  kept  a  lucrative  rag-shop  in  the 
locality,  he  soon  took  her  for  better  for  worse. 
But  alas !  poor  Martin  soon  found  it  was 
all  for  worse,  and  the  gay,  merry,  joking 
Martin,  was  no  longer  to  be  known  in  the 
silent  hen-pecked  husband. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  had  in  the  brief  period  of 
their  courtship  only  vouchsafed  a  grim  smile 
to  Martin's  facetious  remarks,  and  the  mo- 
2 


14  '-ONLY." 

ment  she  became  his  wife,  even  these 
ceased,  and  a  gruff  ''oh!  you  fool,''  pro- 
nounced in  no  gentle  tones,  silenced  him 
effectually:  until  at  length  Martin  only 
made  jokes  to  himself,  and  would  be  seen 
occasionally  chokins^  hnnself  to  conceal  the 
laughter  which  one  of  his  own  puns  had 
excited. 

Of  his  little  boy  and  his  pretty  daughter, 
Martin  was  very  fond ;  they  were  his  poor 
Ellen's  children,  and  this  was  a  constant 
source  of  annoyance  to  his  present  interest- 
ing spouse,  although  she  really  had  no 
cause  for  complaint,  for  he  was  equally 
kind  to  her  own  two  little  brats.  But  it 
really  did  appear  that  she  had  married  him 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  possessing  a  legiti- 
mate right  to  scold  some  one,  as  she  seldom 
did  any  thing  else ;  nothing  she  knew  he 
had  a  particular  fancy  for  would  she  permit 
him  to  have,  but  would  tell  him  he  might 
buy  it  himself,  knowing  full  well  he  had 
not  the  wherewithal ;  so  to  his  good  and 
gentle  daughter  Ellen,  was  he  indebted  for 
every  comfort,  especially  the  tobacco,  the 
fumes  of  which  were  now  fillins:  the  room. 


15 


On  this  day  Mrs.  Rawdon  was,  as  Martin 
said,  out,  and  he  was.  therefore,  doubly  en- 
joying his  pipe.  There  was  a  few  minutes' 
pause  after  his  laconic  speech.  Ellen  con- 
tinued to  kiss  and  fondle  the  fat  baby,  and 
Martin  to  smoke;  but  at  length  drawing  a 
small  leather  purse  from  her  pocket,  Ellen 
took  a  few  shillings  from  it  and  said, 
"Father,  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  only 
four  shillings,  not  all  you  wanted  by  a  shil- 
ling, but  I  lent  one  to  Master  Yernon,  and 
he  has  not  paid  me :  I  did  not  like  to  ask 
for  it." 

The  father  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
and  sending  out  a  long  whiff  of  smoke, 
scratched  his  head,  and  said,  "  Well,  darter, 
what  you  aint  got  I  can't  have,  don't  'ee 
see,  so  must  learn  to  go  without.  I  ought 
to  be  well  learned  in  that,  Nell,  dear,  for 
it's  everlastingly  being  teached  me."  A 
shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  El- 
len's face  as  she  answered,  "  You  go  with- 
out nothing  as  I  know  you  want,  and  can 
afford  to  get  you,  father." 

"True,  my  girl,  I  aint  ungrateful  or  un- 
mindful  of  your   kindness,   but   there 's  a 


16 


many  things  wanted  yet  towards  the  com- 
fortable furnishing  of  this  earthly  taberna- 
cle, which  neither  your  small  means  nor 
my  very  uncertain  income  can  buy."  "  Nell, 
old  girl,"  he  continued,  in  a  much  lower 
voice,  as  he  glanced  at  one  of  the  elder 
children,  who,  with  a  pair  of  very  vicious 
eyes,  was  regarding  him,  "she  has  some- 
times lately  put  loose  change  in  my  pocket, 
very  small  change  though,  such  as  four- 
penny  and  threepenny  bits,  but  as  at  first 
she  did  so  most  every  day,  and  then  let 
some  weeks  go  by ;  I  think  it  may  be  called 
an  uncertain  income." 

A  smile  of  old  times  stole  over  his  face 
like  a  gleam  of  fitful  sunlight,  but  it  fled 
so  quickly,  that  its  existence  at  all  might 
have  been  doubted,  as  a  loud  and  very 
harsh  voice  was  heard  in  the  shop.  On  all 
the  inmates  of  that  small  room  the  voice 
had  an  eflect ;  the  elder  boy  with  the  vicious 
eyes,  hastily  hid  a  huge  piece  of  bread  in  a 
greasy  cap;  a  little  girl,  who  had  been 
standing  with  a  cup  in  her  hand  from  the 
moment  of  her  sister's  entrance,  began 
washing  it  in  real  earnest;  Ellen  hurried 


17 


the  purse  into  her  pocket  and  drew  nearer 
to  her  father,  who  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe,  laid  it  on  the  hob,  and  pushed  his 
chair  further  into  the  corner,  —  with  the 
baby  alone  the  voice  seemed  associated  with 
pleasure,  for  it  immediately  toddled  to  the 
door,  which  it  made  vehement  exertions  to 
open,  crowing  and  stamping  its  little  feet. 
Poor  child!  it  only  knew  that  that  voice 
belonged  to  its  mother,  the  being  to  whom 
it  was  indebted  for  all  the  comforts  of  its 
helpless  and  dependent  existence;  save  the 
baby's  tiny  sound  of  pleasure,  there  was  a 
profound  silence  in  the  little  room,  while 
Mrs.  Rawdon,  in  the  shop,  continued  a 
noisy  colloquy  with  some  customer. 

"Why,  my  good  creetur,  it 's  so  washed 
out,  bless  you,  it  aint  worth  sixpence,  and  I 
offers  you  ninepence."  A  weak  and  whin- 
ing voice  answered,  '-I'm  sure  it  aint 
washed  out,  it  was  just  the  color  when  I 
bought  it;  I  could  get  as  much  again  lent 
on  it,  but  I  always  has  a  horror  of  them 
shops;  there's  a  something  about  them 
which  makes  them  as  has  been  there  once, 
go  fifty  times." 

2* 


18  "ONLY." 

There  was  a  pause  while  Mrs.  Rawdon 
held  the  gown  up  to  the  light,  and  the  poor 
thin  figure  before  her  gazed  with  earnest 
eyes  on  her  hard,  uncompromising  face. 
*'Have  you  nothing  else  as  you  can  put  in 
with  it,  —  some  phials,  old  shoes,  hats,  bon- 
nets, rags,"  at  length  Mrs.  Rawdon  asked : 
"Nothing,  nothing,"  answered  the  woman, 
somewhat  petulantly,  "give  it  me  back, 
and  I  '11  try  somewheres  else."  "  Oh  !  very 
well,"  replied  Mrs.  Rawdon,  as  she  rolled 
the  gown  up  in  a  bundle,  and  jingled  in  her 
hand  the  money  she  had  ofiered  for  it ; 
"very  well,  good  morning,  ma'am,"  and 
she  turned  to  enter  the  room. 

The  poor  woman  lingered  at  the  shop 
door  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  heavy 
sigh,  departed.  "Oh!  you're  here,  Miss 
Ellen,  are  you,"  said  Mrs.  Rawdon,  as  she 
entered  and  picked  up  the  baby,  whom  she 
kissed  violently,  admmistering  at  the  same 
time  an  equally  violent  thump  on  the  head 
to  the  little  girl,  whose  washing  of  the  tea- 
things  had  not  yet  been  completed,  and 
without  waiting  for  a  reply  to  the  self-evi- 
dent fact  of  Ellen's  being  there,  said,  "  I 


"ONLY."  19 

suppose  you  've  been  all  very  busy,  you, 
Mr.  Rawdon,  in  particular;  any  man  of 
spirit  would  have  helped  that  child  with 
them  tea-things;  you  won't  get  no  dinner, 
however,  none  of  you  till  you've  cleared 
the  room  up."  "My  dear.  Missis,"  remon- 
strated her  husband,  but  his  remark  was 
unheeded,  indeed  unheard,  for  after  a  long 
pause,  the  child  who  had  received  the  ad- 
monitory blow  on  the  head,  began  to  roar 
so  lustily  that  all  other  sounds  were  merged 
in  "this  one  long  shriek."  Poor  Ellen, 
stunned  by  the  noise,  and  distressed  as  she 
always  was  by  the  discomfort  of  her  father's 
home,  made  her  escape  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  returned  in  time  to  get  tea  for  the  young 
Yernons,  towards  whom  she  acted  in  the 
capacity  of  nursery  maid. 

The  children  were  playing  in  the  nursery, 
for  Mrs.  Yernon  had  a  visitor  with  her. 
He  was  an  old  man,  had  been  a  clergyman 
of  great  celebrity  in  his  day,  had  preached 
not  for  emolument,  not  for  the  pleasant 
prospect  of  lawn  sleeves,  but  from  a  power- 
ful conviction  of  the  grand  truths  of  Ciiris- 
tianity,  and  an  earnest  hope  of  impressing 


20  '-ONLY.- 

them  on  his  hearers.  He  possessed  a  com- 
fortable independence,  and  was  now  passing 
his  dechning  years  in  his  rectory,  with  a 
son,  who  had  followed  closely  in  his  father's 
steps,  and  of  whom  he  was  jnstly  proud. 
Once  or  twice  a  year  he  came  to  pay  a  visit 
to  Mrs.  Yernon ;  he  felt  a  deep  interest  in 
her,  had  known  her  from  her  birth,  had 
been  at  her  wedding,  and  as  he  blessed  her, 
had  prayed  she  might  never  repent  it;  and 
when  she  did,  and  sorrow  and  want  pur- 
sued her,  he  came  to  the  neglected  wife  and 
sutfering  mother,  and  told  her  that  she 
would  henceforth  find  a  sum  at  a  certain 
banker's  each  quarter,  if  she  would  send  for 
it;  and  when  with  streaming  eyes  and 
flushed  face  she  protested  it  was  impossible 
she  could  accept  such  an  offer,  he  gently 
answered,  "  Child,  I  always  keep  a  promise, 
much  more  a  death-bed  vow.  I  told  your 
dying  lather  you  should  never  want:  you 
never  shall,  while  by  Heaven's  blessing  I 
have  aught  1  can  call  my  own ;  "  and  so  on 
this  truly  Christian  charity  did  the  mother 
and  her  helpless  children  subsist,  and  not 
only  were  her  present  wants  supplied,  but 


"ONLY."  2t 

anxiety  for  the  future  lulled  as  much  as  it 
could  be,  by  the  knowledge  that  this  gener- 
ous kindness  wduld  be  continued  to  her 
children.  Moreover,  Stuart  was  to  be  edu- 
cated at  the  rectory,  while  she  superintend- 
ed the  education  of  her  little  daughter. 

There  was  something  most  engaging  in 
the  aspect  of  this  good  and  venerable  man, 
with  his  fine  head,  his  snow  white  hair,  and 
clear  blue  eyes,  and  something  touching  in 
the  rich  tones  of  his  gentle  voice,  which 
gave  to  every  thing  he  said  a  more  forcible 
meaning.  The  intention  of  his  visit  this 
day,  was  to  induce  Mrs.  Yernon  to  let  him 
take  Stuart  back  with  him,  as  he  felt  the 
boy  was  being  too  much  indulged  by  his 
sickly,  indolent  mother,  and  that  he  was 
too  noisy  and  troublesome  for  her.  There 
was  something  most  picturesque  in  their 
attitude  as  they  sat  together,  the  old  man 
holding  the  thin  white  hand  of  the  invalid 
in  his,  —  her  pale  and  beautiful  face,  older 
in  its  suffering  youth  than  that  of  the  rosy 
healthy  old  man  by  her  side. 

"My  child,'"'  he  said,  in  the  low  and 
trembling  tones  peculiar  to  him,  "we  must 


22  ''ONLY." 

all  in  this  world  accustom  ourselves  to  con- 
sider first  the  eventual  good  of  an  action, 
before  we  think  whether  it  be  agreeable  to 
our  present  feelings;  weigh  well  in  your 
mind,  whether  your  boy  will  eventually  be 
the  better  for  remaining  here,  which  will  of 
course  be  gratifying  to  you,  or  by  coming 
with  me,  which  will  naturally  for  the  time 
distress  you.  I  need  not,  I  am  sure,  remind 
you  that  your  duty  as  a  mother  is  to  consult 
your  boy's  good,  not  your  own  feelings,  but 
at  the  same  time,  I  will  in  no  wise  urge  you 
to  any  line  of  conduct, — I  only  wish  sim- 
ply to  remind  you  to  act  in  accordance  with 
judgment,  not  feeling."  "I  am  sure,"  an- 
swered Marian,  "of  the  benefit  any  one 
must  derive  from  you  and  your  tuition,  but 
I,  foolishly,  perhaps,  fancy  no  one  can  un- 
derstand Stuart  as  I  can:  he  is  an  odd 
child,  and  never  having  been  accustomed 
to  restraint,  would,  1  fear,  rebel  against  it, 
while  he  is  so  young,  at  least." 

"  My  dear  Marian,  the  younger  the  plant, 
the  better  we  can  bend  it  to  our  will.  A 
child's  education  should  commence  from  its 
cradle,  and  little  can  any  one  consider  the 


23 


warfare  the  Christian  is  called  on  to  sustain, 
who  does  not  from  his  earliest  infancy  send 
him  forth  like  a  warrior  well  armed  for  the 
strife.  Most  cruel  is  that  weak  indulgence, 
which  by  fostering  the  passions  of  the  child, 
render  them,  instead  of  his  slaves,  his  mas- 
ters, making  at  last  of  the  spoiled  and  pet- 
ted boy,  a  vicious  and  a  hated  man.  You 
cannot  surely  dread  unkindness  from  me  to 
your  boy,  dear  Marian !  believe  me,  my 
law  is  the  law  of  kindness,  and  I  only  at- 
tempt to  conquer  by  moral,  not  physical 
force.  The  child  who  can  only  be  man- 
aged by  the  cane,  is,  in  my  opinion,  in  a 
hopeless  condition." 

"Well,"  answered  Mrs.  Vernon,  with  a 
sigh,  "  I  suppose  you  are  right ;  let  him  stay 
a  week  more  at  home  then,  only  a  week." 
"Only,"  echoed  her  friend,  in  a  low  voice. 
With  a  sudden  start  the  invalid  raised  her- 
self from  her  recumbent  position,  and  said, 
"  at  once  he  shall  go,  now,  when  you  like ;  " 
and  falling  back  on  her  pillows,  the  large 
tears  fell  thick  and  fast.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  and  then  the  old  man,  rising, 
pressed  his  lips  on  the  thin  fingers  clasped 


154  "ONLY." 

round  his  own,  and  said,  "God  bless  yon, 
dear  child,  and  aid  you  in  all  good  resolves, 
I  will  call  for  the  boy  at  twelve  to-mor- 
row,"—  and  silently  he  left  the  room. 

The  following  morning,  at  the  appointed 
hour,  he  came  again  for  Stuart,  who,  fortu- 
nately for  his  poor  mother,  made  no  objec- 
tion to  going:  it  had  long  been  talked  of, 
and  he  imagined  he  should  like  it.  In  a 
few  days  after  his  departure,  Mrs.  Yernon 
thought  as  she  had  now  but  one  child  to 
take  care  of,  she  could  manage  without  a 
nurse,  and  accordingly  told  Ellen  she  must 
provide  herself  with  another  place.  Poor 
Ellen  !  in  a  moment  a  thousand  fairy  pala- 
ces were  shattered  to  atoms,  and  only  say- 
ing, "  very  well,  Ma'am,"  she  hurried  to 
her  own  room,  and  cried  bitterly.  What 
was  to  become  of  her  7  she  must  go  home,  — 
to  that  wretched  home,  where  it  made  her 
miserable  to  remain  half  an  hour  even ; 
she  had  never  lived  at  home  since  a  step- 
mother had  come  to  add  discord  to  the  dis- 
comfort of  poverty ;  —  what  should  she  do  7 
for  some  moments  she  indulged  her  grief, 
and  then  rising  from  her  seat  and  drying 


"ONLY."  2B 

her  eyes,  she  said,  "  Well,  crying  won't 
mend  it ;  I  must  look  sharp  and  find  anoth- 
er place,  poor  father  must  make  my  compa- 
ny do  instead  of  '"bacca,"  and  she  smiled 
slightly  through  her  tears,  "  that  is,  if  I 
don't  get  a  place  before  I  must  leave  here, 
but  a  month 's  a  good  while,  and  who 
knows?  I  wish  Master  Stuart  had  paid  me 
that  shilling,  I  don't  like  to  ask  Missis,  gen- 
tlefolks little  thmk  how  much  a  shilling  is 
to  such  as  me  :  poor  father !  I  wonder  how 
he  's  managed  without  it,  and  I  shan't  have 
a  silver  sixpence  till  I  leave." 

During  this  soliloquy  Ellen  had  been 
turning  over  the  contents  of  a  little  red 
leather  box,  which  seemed  to  contain  a  va- 
riety of  treasures  :  there  was  a  yard  meas- 
ure, representing  a  turret  in  a  style  of  archi- 
tecture unknown  to  any  one  save  the  maker 
of  these  "trifles  from  Margate,"  and  there 
was  the  leather  purse,  and  an  ivory  emery- 
cushion,  and  four  or  five  letters,  worn  with 
reading,  tied  together  with  blue  ribbon  ;  as 
Ellen  lifted  these  last  from  the  box,  a  glow 
of  the  brightest  crimson  sufl^used  her  face 
and  neck ;  she  gazed  at  them  for  a  moment, 
3 


26  '-ONLY.-' 

and  then  tears  again  gathered  in  her  eyes, 
and  fell  quickly  upon  them:  then  replacing 
them  carefully  where  she  had  found  them, 
she  locked  the  box,  and  turning  away  with 
a  heavy  sigh,  said,  "  Poor  Joe  !  well,  father 
first,  and  then  when  he  's  comfortable  we  '11 
begin  and  think  about  ourselves." 

Good  Ellen  !  there  is  as  true  a  heroism  in 
this  act  of  filial  duty  and  self-forgetful ness, 
as  in  many  a  grand  action  which  fame  has 
trumpeted  forth,  and  the  world  applauded; 
and  such  acts,  honor  be  to  human  nature 
with  all  its  sin  and  frailty,  are  daily  and 
hourly  being  performed,  unseen  but  by  one 
Being,  who,  "  seeing  in  secret,"'  will  one  day 
"reward  openly."  Take  courage,  then,  ye 
who  in  a  monotonous  and  toilsome  existence 
are  repeatedly  making  such  noble  sacrifices, 
uncheered  and  unencouraged  by  a  word  of 
praise,  and  remember  that  every  such  act 
plants  another  jewel  in  the  diadem  you  will 
merit  when  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  shall 
be  disclosed. 


ONLY."  27 


CHAPTER  11. 

Years  have  gone  by  since  the  day  when 
Mr.  Feversham,  the  kind  Rector,  took 
Stuart  Yernon  from  his  home,  and  on  as 
sunny  and  warm  a  day,  long  after,  we 
must  peep  into  the  Rectory  and  note  the 
changes  which  time  has  made  upon  its 
inmates.  The  house,  in  the  old  Eliza- 
bethan architecture,  stands  in  a  large  gar- 
den, inclosed  by  a  brick  wall  covered  with 
moss  and  lichen.  On  the  lawn,  mown  so 
beautifully  that  it  looks  like  a  velvet  car- 
pet, stands  a  gigantic  walnut  tree,  whose 
brawny  branches  like  protecting  arms 
stretch  far  across  it.  A  rustic  bench  and 
table  are  beneath,  and  a  group  of  people 
are  assembled  there;  a  graceful  girl,  a 
young  and  handsome  lad,  and  a  tall  grave 
looking  man.  The  girl  is  knitting,  the 
boy  stretched  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  the 
man  standing  beside  them,  all  are  attired 
in  deep  mourning.     "  Edith,"  said  the  last 


28 


named  personage,  after  a  long  pause, 
during  which  he  had  been  gazing  ear- 
nestly at  the  girl's  sweet  face,  "I  have 
something  to  say  to  you,  which  I  scarcely 
know  how  to  say;  however  I  may  word 
it,  its  meannig  will,  I  fear,  bear  a  tinge 
of  harshness;  to  use  the  mildest  term  it 
will  be  at  least  unwelcome." 

She  looked  up  inquiringly.  "You  are 
nearly  seventeen,  Edith,  and  you  know 
you  must  feel  how  materially  our  late 
affliction  has  changed  your  position  here ; 
in  short,  for  it  is  better,  I  believe,  at  once 
to  speak  openly,  you  cannot  remain  here 
now  I  am  alone.  While  you  were  con- 
sidered under  my  father's  protection,  it 
was  very  ditferent,  but  now,  Edith,  it 
would  not  do;  your  brother  is  not  of  an 
age  even  to  alter  the  case;  he  will  of 
course  remain  with  me  as  my  pupil,  but 
for  you,  my  dear  Edith,  we  must  find 
another  home." 

The  speaker  had  hoped  that  the  young 
girl  to  whom  he  addressed  himself,  would 
relieve  the  awkwardness  of  his  speech  by 
some  comment,  some  question;  but  no,  she 


''ONLY."  29 

heard  him  to  the  end,  and  then  raising  a 
pair  of  Hquid,  speaking  eyes  to  his  face, 
meekly  answered  "  Yes." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  broken 
at  length  by  the  boy,  who  raised  himself 
from  his  position  on  the  ground,  and  said, 
"Then,  I  suppose  poor  Sis  must  follow 
the  fortune  of  all  portionless  maidens,  and 
become  a  governess  or  companion,  or  some- 
thing, to  be  ill  treated  by  a  parcel  of  fine 
ladies,  and  insulted  by  their  servants;  no, 
thank  you,  Sis  and  I  will  go  away  together, 
Mr.  Feversham,  if  we're  in  your  way,  but 
we'll  not  be  parted.  I  promised, — 1  pro- 
mised my  mother,"  he  added,  in  a  much 
lower  tone,  "to  take  care  of  her,  and  I 
will;  we'll  go  together,  dear,"  and  spring- 
ing from  tlie  ground,  he  flung  his  arm 
round  his  sister's  neck,  and  drawing  her 
head  towards  him  affectionately,  stroked 
it,  while  with  flashing  eyes  he  surveyed 
their  companion. 

Mr.    Feversham    smiled    gently    as    he 

answered,    "Not   so    fast,    dear    Stuart;    I 

admire   the    spirit   which    you   display   in 

thus    defending   3^our    sister,    but    in    this 

3* 


30  ''ONLY." 

instance  there  is  no  cause.  You  are  aware 
that  a  small  income  is  yours,  and  that 
though  trifling,  it  is  ample  to  preserve 
Edith  from  the  miseries  of  being  a  gover- 
ness; I  am  only  suggesting  that  which  is 
indispensable,  a  more  suitable  home  for 
your  sister,  who  growing  now  quite  a 
young  woman,  requires  the  companionship 
and  protection  of  a  young  lady.  Many 
widow  ladies  would  be  glad  of  so  charm- 
ing an  addition  to  their  household,  and 
such  a  home  we  must  make  it  our  business 
to  find  her.  You  understand,  do  you  not, 
my  dear  Edith?"  continued  Mr.  Feversham, 
as  he  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  her, 
and  took  her  passive  little  hand  in  his. 
She  had  not  moved  her  head  from  her 
brother's  shoulder,  and  she  answered  in 
very  low  tones,  '-I  understand,  but  it  is 
very  hard  to  have  to  part  from  Stuart; 
when  shall  I  have  done  parting  from  those 
I  love  7" 

Poor  Edith,  these  were  simple  words, 
but  they  told  the  whole  sad  tale.  From 
the  moment  of  the  first  heart-breaking 
parting  with  her  idolized  brother,  Edith's 


''ONLY."  31 

life  had  been  a  sad  one;  her  mother's 
heahh  declined  rapidly,  and  soon  followed 
another  parting  more  bitter  still,  her  mother 
died.  The  good  old  Rector  hastened  to 
her,  and  received  her  last  breath,  taking 
away  with  him  the  poor  little  orphan, 
whose  tender  and  impressionable  heart 
was  long,  long  ere  it  could  be  reconciled 
to  its  loss.  At  length  the  excellent  charac- 
ter of  their  invaluable  friend,  and  his  unre- 
mittnig  kindness  purchased  Edith's  love, 
and  next  to  her  brother  now,  came  the 
good  Rector.  She  was  ever  by  his  side, 
his  gentleness  suited  her  mild  and  timid 
nature,  and  far  rather  would  she  sit  with 
her  small  hand  in  his,  listening  to  some 
tale  he  would  read  to  her  with  his  beau- 
tiful voice,  than  join  Stuart  and  his  merry 
companions  on  the  lawn.  So  daily  stronger 
and  stronger  grew  her  love  for  the  old 
man,  and  at  length  her  watchful  aifection 
marked  that  his  voice  grew  weaker,  and 
his  step  feebler,  and  she  knew  that  the 
wings  of  the  Angel  of  Death  swept  over 
him,  and  that  ere  long  he  would  waft  him 
away  to  that  Heaven  where  he  \voidd 
"  rest  from  his  labors." 


3'2  "ONLY."' 

Young  as  she  was,  she  argued  with  her- 
self on  the  selfishness  of  the  tears'  which 
would  gather  in  her  eyes,  as  she  marked 
how  the  light  in  his  was  burning  out,  and 
tried  to  think  that  rather  she  should  rejoice 
that  he  was  going  to  meet  the  reward  of 
all  his  goodness;  but  all  her  arguing  was 
in  vain,  and  passionate  floods  of  tears  re- 
lieved her  aching  heart,  when  she  was 
told  that  the  spirit  of  her  best  friend  had 
passed  away  forever. 

His  son,  feeling  deeply  his  own  loss, 
wept  with  her,  but  he  from  his  childhood 
had  learned  to  control  and  keep  in  check 
every  motion,  every  passion,  and,  after  the 
first  natural  burst  of  grief,  was  calm  and 
uncomplaining.  His  life  had  been  one  of 
seclusion  and  devotion,  and  he  had  learnt 
the  enviable  lesson  of  perfect  submission 
and  resignation;  not  with  his  lips  only 
did  he  say  "Thy  will  be  done,*'  but  in 
his  lite;  and  as  the  Buddhist  resigns  each 
article  of  worldly  wealth  to  his  poorer 
brethren  who  demand  it,  without  murmur 
or.  regret,  so  did  this  faithful  disciple  cheer- 
fully submit  to  every  loss  and  trial,  which 


ONLY. 


3S 


the  Dispenser  of  Events  saw  fit  to  inflict 
on  him.  Bat  Edith,  the  young,  sensitive 
Edith,  had  not  been  so  trained,  and  her 
grief  seemed  the  more  uncontrollable  as  she 
witnessed  the  cahnness  of  her  passionless 
companion.  A  week  or  two  had  barely 
closed  the  wound,  ere  it  was  probed  afresh 
by  Mr.  Feversham's  intimation  that  she 
must  leave  the  Rectory,  causing  her  ex- 
clamation of  "  when  shall  I  have  done 
parting  with  those  I  love?"  From  her 
tiny  babyhood  Stuart  had  been  her  idol, 
she  could  not  see  a  fault  in  this  cherished 
brother,  and  every  good  point  in  his  charac- 
ter was  in  her  eyes  an  exalted  virtue;  to 
be  taken  from  him,  now  too  that  they 
were  so  utterly  alone  in  the  world,  seemed 
indeed  unbearable,  and  those  few  words 
were  all  her  heart  could  utter. 

"  I  am  in  hopes,"  continued  Mr.  Fever- 
sham,  "the  parting  will  not  extend  beyond 
this  village,  you  can  then  see  Stuart  daily. 
I  have  thought,  if  you  like  her,  of  speaking 
to  Mrs.  Carysfort,  her  nice  daughter  too, 
will  be  an  agreeable  companion  for  you,  — 
what  say  you  ?" 


84 


"  Oh  !  yes,  any  where  you  hke,''  answered 
Edith,  for  this  cool  way  of  making  arrange- 
ments, when  her  heart  was  bursting,  always 
annoyed  her,  and  lifting  her  head  from  her 
brother's  shoulder,  she  rose,  and  making 
some  excuse  to  leave  them,  she  walked  into 
the  house.  In  half  an  hour  her  brother's 
loud  voice  summoned  her  from  her  room, 
where  she  had  sought  refuge,  and  she  went 
down  to  him. 

"I  say,  Edith,  my  dear  child,"  he  began, 
with  the  man-manner,  boys  of  his  age  like 
to  assume,  especially  to  a  sister,  "there's  a 
great  deal  of  sense  and  truth  in  what  IMr. 
Feversham  has  been  saying,  and  1  hope 
you  won't  be  silly  enough  to  fret  about  it; 
if  the  Carysforts  take  you,  you  will  be  close 
to  us,  and  we  shall  see  one  another  fre- 
quently." '-See  one  another  frequently  !  " 
Poor  Edith  !  this  is  her  first  lesson  in  the 
difference  of  the  love  of  man  and  woman ; 
she,  who  could  not  sleep  till  she  had  kissed 
him  at  night,  nor  take  delight  in  any  amuse- 
ment which  he  did  not  share,  nor  note  that 
the  sun  shone,  if  his  eyes  were  not  there  to 
make  the  day  look  bright,  —  he,  this  idol, 
would  be  satisfied  "to  see  her  frequently." 


35 


This  is  her  first  plunge  into  the  coldness 
of  the  world,  the  next  will  be  far  less  chill- 
ing. Oh !  how  merciful  is  the  command 
which  bids  us  in  all  things  "  be  temperate," 
and  how  great  the  wisdom  which,  in  its 
knowledge  of  our  weak  nature,  made  idol- 
atry a  sin.  Edith  could  not  answer,  she 
only  sighed.  "  I  think  you  '11  be  very  com- 
fortable with  the  Carysforts,  and  you  know 
you're  twice  as  clever  as  Kate,  and  can 
teach  her  some  of  your  accomphshments; 
and  they  can  take  you  on  lower  terms,  for 
you  know  we  shan't  be  able  to  aflbrd  much; 
if  we  were  two  girls  our  income  would  be 
capital,  but  a  boy  always  wants  twice  as 
much  money  as  a  girl ;  not  dear  Sis,  that  I 
mean  to  take  twice  as  much  of  our  money, 
don't  be  afraid."  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  that, 
Stuart,  I  am  sure  you  would  neither  be  un- 
generous nor  unjust."  "  No,  that  I  'm  sure 
I  would  not,  especially  to  my  darling  Sis,  — 
but  you  know  boys'  books  and  clothes  are 
so  expensive  to  what  girls'  are ;  however,  if 
these  Carysforts  will  take  you  for  a  small 
sum,  I  think  it  a  capital  move;  you  would 
not   mind   teaching    Kate,    should    you  ? " 


36 


"  No,  I  should  not  mind  it  if  I  am  capable, 
but  I  thought  you  objected  just  now  to  my 
teaching."'  "Ah,  that's  another  thing;  I 
was  afraid  Feversham  was  not  going  to 
give  us  fair  play,  but  turn  you  out  as  gov- 
erness or  something,  just  to  get  rid  of  the 
expense,  and  I  was  not  going  to  stand  that, 
—  having  you  knocking  about  the  world  in 
that  way  :  but  going  into  a  nice  family  like 
the  Carysforts,  and  making  a  sort  of  ex- 
change of  your  talents  for  their  bread  and 
butter,  is  quite  another  thing.  Then,  you 
know,  I  shall  work  hard,  and  Feversham 
says  he  knows  lots  of  influential  men  in 
town,  who  will  get  me  a  government  situ- 
ation, perhaps,  and  then  won't  I  show  my 
8is  off!  " 

'•Oh!  while  I  think  of  it,  let  me  tell  you, 
I  spent  that  money  1  had  of  yours  yester- 
day." "Did  you,  dear  Stuart?"  "Yes, 
you  don't  care,  do  you,  it  was  'only'  five 
and  sixpence,  I  '11  pay  you  next  quarter." 
"  No,  I  don't  want  it,  dear,"  answered 
Edith,  but  she  could,  —  save  that  she  never 
lectured  Stuart,  —  have  warned  him  against 
that  "only,"  which  her  dear  old  friend  had 


"ONLY."  37 

told  her  had  mined  her  poor  father.  It  was 
finally  arranged  that  Edith  should  go  to  the 
Garysforts,  and  exactly  as  Stuart  wished. 
Mrs.  Carysfort  had  long  admired  the  gentle 
and  intellectual  Edith,  and  was  charmed  at 
the  idea  of  securing  so  eligible  a  companion 
for  her  high-spirited  and  somewhat  unman- 
ageable daughter. 

Kate  Carysfort,  a  girl  with  bright  brown 
eyes,  and  hair  so  dark  it  might  be  called 
black,  luxuriant  and  glossy,  and  always 
beautifully  dressed,  would  have  been  an 
undeniably  handsome  girl  if  she  had  been 
taller,  but  as  it  was,  handsome  could  not  be 
applied  to  the  gay  and  piquant  Kate ;  but 
there  were  few  critics  in  the  village,  and 
there  she  was  the  belle :  and  not  to  know 
"little  Kate  Carysfort,"  as  the  saucy  men 
called  her,  was  to  argue  yourself  unknown. 

Like  a  hen  with  a  duckling,  poor  Mrs. 
Carysfort  was  in  dread,  at  every  moment, 
that  her  wild  Kate  would  perform  some  ex- 
traordinary feat,  risking  life  and  limb  in  the 
attempt ;  and  so  she  was  truly  glad  of  the 
inlluence  she  trusted  the  gentle  Edith  would 
exercise  over  her. 
4 


38 


A  short  time  served  for  the  necessary 
arrangements,  and  Edith  was  installed  a 
member  of  Mrs.  Carysfort's  small  but  ele- 
gant establishment.  Her  cottage  was  fur- 
nished with  the  most  perfect  taste,  and  stood 
in  the  most  picturesque  part  of  the  village. 
A  cook  and  housekeeper,  and  a  very  supe- 
rior, nicely-mannered  servant,  who  com- 
bined the  services  of  housemaid  and  lady's 
maid,  and  a  man  who  attended  to  the  gar- 
den, and  drove  their  small  pony  phaeton, 
formed  Mrs.  Carysfort's  little  household  ; 
and  after  the  first  strangeness  wore  away, 
the  elegance  and  quiet  \yith  which  every 
thing  was  conducted,  soon  made  Edith  very 
comfortable  in  her  new  home,  though  she 
saw  but  little  of  her  brother,  as  her  fears 
had  foretold.  But  Edith  had  a  loving,  sen- 
sitive heart,  and  soon  grew  fond  of  her 
winning  and  very  attractive  companion,  so 
that  she  bore  this  estrangement  from  her 
brother  far  better  than  she  thought  possible. 

It  was  something  quite  new  to  Edith,  the 
companionship  of  a  young  girl,  and  delight- 
ful too,  especially  such  a  girl  as  Kate,  for 
joined  to  her  high  spirits,  she  was  so  origi- 


39 


nal  in  her  ideas  that  she  was  a  corxtinual 
amusement;  and  never  had  Edith  laughed 
so  much  as  during  her  first  week's  residence 
with  her  new  friends. 

One  day,  after  she  had  been  with  them 
about  a  month,  Mrs.  Carysfort  told  her  it 
was  her  intention  to  go  to  town  for  a  short 
time,  taking  Kate  with  her,  and  Edith  too, 
if  she  did  not  object.  Kate  sprung  from  her 
seat  with  a  scream  of  dehght,  nearly  up- 
setting in  her  ecstacies  the  small  work-table 
at  which  her  mother  was  seated ;  she  had 
never  been  in  London,  and  had  frequently 
teased  Mrs.  Carysfort  to  take  her.  '•  Now, 
gently,  my  dear  Kate,"  said  her  mother,  "I 
was  determined  not  to  tell  you  till  almost 
the  moment  of  departure,  as  T  knew  you 
would  make  yourself  ill  with  excitement, 
and  now  on  my  word  I  will  not  take  you  if 
the  whole  peace  of  my  establishment  is  to 
be  disturbed  with  your  racket;  "  she  contin- 
ued, smiling.  "  Miss  Vernon,  will  you  go  ?  " 
'•Oh  yes,  certainly,  if  you  v*^ill  be  plagued 
with  me."  "  Well  then,  on  Monday  [ 
should  like  to  start"  "Oh!  my  gracious, 
mother  dear,  I  must  have  a  new  bonnet," 


40  ''ONLY." 

exclaimed  Kate.  "So  I  expected  Miss 
Kate,  for  though  I  think  it  unnecessary,  I 
know  we  seldom  agree  on  that  point;  how- 
ever, so  that  my  plans  are  not  disarranged 
by  having  to  wait  for  the  said  bonnet,  you 
may  order  it."  "Oh  thank  you,  my  sweet 
darling  mammy ;  now  you,  Miss  Vernon, 
must  come  out  this  afternoon  and  see  what 
Mrs.  Jones's  ingenuity  can  effect." 

"Don't  you  think  it  better  to  get  your 
new  bonnet  in  town,  Kate?"  asked  Edith. 
"  Oh  !  understand  me,  Miss  Carysfort,"  said 
her  mother,  "I  will  have  no  expensive  bon- 
net ordered,  nothing  but  a  clean  straw  to 
take  you  to  town;  you  can  get  a  much 
better  and  more  fashionable  one  on  your 
arrival." 

"  Charming,"  replied  Kate,  "I  shall  have 
two  new  ones,  which  is  one  and  a  half 
more  than  I  expected."  "  One  and  a  half, 
dear?"  "Yes,  for  I  only  thought  to  have 
some  ribbon  for  my  old  one,  don't  you  see  ? 
I  'm  so  glad  when  the  bonnet  debate  is 
settled,  for  there's  usually  a  division  of 
the  house,  and  then  the  'noes'  invariably 


"ONLY."  41 

All  now  became  busy  preparation  in  Mrs. 
Carysfort's  quiet  abode ;  drawers  and  closets 
were  turned  out,  many  a  long  lost  treasure 
coming  to  light,  in  this  general  expulsion  of 
all  things  from  their  hiding  places,  and  on 
Monday  they  started  on  their  journey. 

On  the  first  evening,  while  they  are  rest- 
ing from  their  fatigue,  and  striving  to  over- 
come tlie  feeling  of  discomfort  in  their  new 
and  noisy  abode, — we  must  visit  a  house 
not  many  streets  distant,  and  entering  its 
spacious  rooms,  introduce  ourselves  to  its 
inmates.  A  lady  is  seated  in  a  low  and 
luxuriously  cushioned  chair,  in  a  loose  dress 
of  the  clearest  muslin,  abundantly  trimmed 
with  rich  lace,  a  square  of  fine  point  is  tied 
over  her  head,  pinned  on  with  pins  of  tur- 
quoise and  diamonds,  her  hair,  which  is  very 
light,  dressed  in  short,  full  curls;  round  her 
neck  is  a  broad  piece  of  black  velvet,  fastened 
by  a  bird  with  expanded  wings,  also  of  tur- 
quoise and  diamonds;  a  cloak  of  black  lace 
covers  her  brilliantly  fair  shoulders,  and  in 
her  lap  is  the  tiniest  spaniel,  with  a  broad 
rose-colored  riband  round  his  throat,  the 
color  of  which  gives  the  finishing  touch  to 


1 

42  ''ONLY." 

the  very  graceful  picture  the  lady  presents. 
She  is  chatting  gaily  to  a  fresh  arrival,  a 
tall  handsome  man,  who  appears  not  only 
to  consider  himself  so,  but  to  be  quite  aware 
that  that  is  the  received  opinion;  several 
persons  are  grouped  about  the  rooms,  as  it 
is  one  of  Mrs.  Murray  Fisher's  "evening's." 
A  gentleman  is  exerting  himself  vehemently 
at  the  piano,  so  much  so,  that  even  his  long 
lock  of  hair  is  dancing  on  his  forehead,  and 
the  ingenuity  with  which  between  the  chords 
he  dashes  back  the  intrusive  lock,  is  almost 
as  wonderful,  as  the  sounds  his  long  fingers 
seem  to  emit  from  the  keys,  —  the  people 
are  supposed  to  be  listening. 

"  And  how  are  you,  to  night?  "  asked  the 
handsome  man  of  the  lady  we  have  de- 
scribed. "Oh!  wretchedly  ill  with  the 
most  horrible  cold ;  I  positively  declare  no- 
tliing  but  Mrs.  Fisher  would  have  brought 
me  out."  "Save  the  desire  to  wear  that 
most  artistic  and  becoming  point."  "How 
like  you  !  no  one  else  would  have  ventured 
such  an  impertinence,"  replied  the  lady, 
looking  up  in  his  face  with  tlie  most  gra- 
cious smile.     "A  truth  then,  1  am  sure,  or 


ONLY. 


m 


you  would  not  call  it  an  impertinence;  but," 
he  continued,  bending  down  and  speaking 
in  a  much  lower  tone,  "it  is  equally  true 
that  it  is  most  becoming;  I  never  saw  you 
look  more  enchanting."  The  lady  made  no 
reply  to  this,  but  stroking  the  dog,  lavished 
on  him  a  variety  of  most  tender  epithets, 
while  her  companion  continued  to  gaze  on 
her,  but  with  a  smile  which  it  was  well, 
perhaps,  she  saw  not. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  the  Hon. 
Herbert  Lovell,  for  so  was  the  gentleman 
called,  said,  "  Do  you  really  mean  to  say 
that  you  like  coming  here,  Mrs.  Fraser?" 
"Of  course  I  do;  to-night  is  rather  a  dull 
night,  but  usually  the  rooms  are  crammed 
to  suffocation,  it's  delightful."  "It  must 
be,"  replied  Lovell,  with  another  peculiar 
smile,  which,  Mrs.  Fraser  unheeding,  con- 
tinued, "  Oh  !  I  would  not  miss  one  of  dear 
Mrs.  Fisher's  evenings  for  the  world;  she 
gets  every  body,  such  deliciously  clever  peo- 
ple, who  positively  make  one's  head  ache 
with  their  talent,  —  they  talk  books  to  such 
an  extent  that  one  goes  home  feeling  a  per- 
fect fool."     "  That  must  be  also  delightful," 


44  '^ONLY." 

replied  her  companion;  '-and  do  you  feel 
equally  charmed  with  the  music  that  gen- 
tleman has  been  indulging  us  with  J " 
"Well,  to-night  I  have  not  been  attending, 
but  I  have  heard  some  excellent  music  here 
I  assure  you,  the  very  best  that  is  to  be 
heard;  oh,  you  look  so  incredulous,  you 
quite  provoke  me, — I  hate  you  in  these 
severe  sarcastic  moods ;  go  away  to  the  fur- 
ther end  of  the  room,  and  come  back  when 
you  are  good  tempered."  In  the  same  low 
tone  in  which  he  had  before  spoken,  Lovell 
replied,  "That  is  too  cruel  a  punishment 
for  the  venial  offence  of  finding  Mrs.  Fish- 
er's party  dull,  but  perhaps  it  would  serve 
me  right  for  having  selfishly  usurped  its 
only  attraction;"  Avith  a  slight  bow  to  the 
lady,  "I  will  go,  but  to  return,  as  you  have 
given  me  permission."  Again  she  bent  her 
head  down  to  the  dog,  and  caressed  him ; 
when  she  looked  up,  Lovell  had  moved 
away  to  the  end  of  the  room,  where  her 
bright  eyes  followed  and  rested  on  him. 

"One  word  with  you,  dear,"  exclaimed  a 
voice  behind  Mrs.  Fraser,  "I  have  scarcely 
spoken  to  you,  love,"  and  turning,  she  found 


ONLY. 


a 


the  person  addressing  her  was  "dear  Mrs. 
Fisher"  herself!  "I  so  feared  you  would 
not  come,  for  some  one  told  me  you  had 
such  a  fearful  cold."  "It  is  better  to-night, 
and  I  could  not  resist  coming."  "  Oh  !  that 's 
so  nice  of  you  now,  but  there  's  no  one  here 
to-night,  that  horrid  Lady  Mudderstone  has 
a  ball,  —  she  always  manages  to  have  one 
on  my  nights,  because  I  don't  ask  her  and 
her  gawky  daughters  ;  and  all  my  best  men 
are  gone  there ;  but  come,  dear,  next  Friday, 
I  have  several  good  people  coming,  and 
amongst  them,  whom  do  you  think?  Stuart 
Vernon !  I  have  been  dymg  to  tell  you  all 
about  it,  but  you  know  I  never  have  a  mo- 
ment, however,  he 's  suddenly  risen  up  from 
the  grave  as  it  were,  and  so  altered.  Oh! 
my  dear,  — he  's  been  to  Egypt,  and  every 
where,  seen  such  wonders  ;  they  tell  me  his 
manners  are  delightful  still,  but  I  must  go 
now  and  get  some  one  to  sing;  "  and  away 
hurried  the  busy  hostess. 

"  Well,  you  see  I  have  returned,"  said 
Lovell,  as  he  lounged  back  to  his  place, 
"and  no  better  pleased  with  what  appears 
to   give   you   so   much   satisfaction.     Mrs. 


46 


Fisher  seems  to  have  been  entertaining 
you."  ''  Oh  !  yes,  she  has  been  teUing  me 
a  long  story  in  the  most  excited  manner, 
and  1  have  not  an  idea  what  it  is  all  about ; 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  know,  tell  me,  enligfit- 
en  me,  do,  who  is  Stuart  Vernon?"  "Who 
was  Stuart  Vernon  you  mean  !  "  "  Who 
is,  I  mean.  Mrs.  Fisher  says  something 
about  his  coming  from  Egypt  and  every- 
where, and  being  so  altered  ;  I  never  heard 
of  the  man,  am  I  very  ignorant?"  "  IS'ot 
at  all,  the  knowledge  of  his  existence  is  not 
necessary  for  the  finishing  of  your  educa- 
tion. I  thought  he  had  been  dead  many 
years.  He  married  some  pretty  portionless 
girl,  and  in  the  most  uncommon  manner 
ran  away  from  her  when  he  grew  tired  of 
his  toy.  She  was  extravagant,  and  got 
tlirough  the  large  fortune  he  once  possessed, 
and  so  he  thought  it  better  to  go  abroad  and 
make  another,  leaving  her  to  take  care  of 
her  children  as  she  best  could,  at  least  so 
runs  the  story.  I  have  no  personal  know- 
ledge of  him,  but  the  young  and  handsome 
Stuart  Vernon,  some  twelve  or  thirteen 
years  ago,  was  as  well  known  at  the  Club:>, 


ONLY. 


47 


as  Mrs.  Murray  Fisher  at  the  Opera,  but," 
he  continued,  "  time  and  absence  have  done 
their  usual  work,  and  blotted  from  the 
minds  of  his  once  ardent  admirers  the  gay, 
handsome  and  rich  Vernon,  and  now  on  his 
return  he  will  only  be  a  nine  days'  wonder, 
since,  as  your  friend  says,  '  he  is  so  alter- 
ed,'—  so  much  for  the  friendship  of  the 
i  world." 

I     Ere  Mr.  Lovell  had  concluded  his  speech, 
a.   gentleman   who   had   been   pushing   his 
way  across  the   rooms,    advanced  to   Mrs. 
Fraser  and  spoke  to  her ;  she  turned  gaily 
;  and  smilingly  towards  him,  and  began  an 
!  animated  conversation,  blnshing  and  laugh- 
^ing  at  the  repeated   compliments   he   paid 
iher;  Lovell   gazed   at   her   for   some  time, 
smiled  again  that  same  strange  smile,  and 
Ithen   said    "Good   night,   Mrs.    Fraser." — 
'"Are  you  going  so  soon 7"  she  asked.     "I 
am,  I  cannot  expect  your  undivided  atten- 
tion, and   as   I   told  you,  that  is  my  only 
attraction  here,  good  night;"  and  bowing, 
I  somewhat  stiffly  this  time,  he  moved  away. 
iAs  he  passed  the  folding  doors  he  tapped  a 
young  man  on  the  shoulder,  "Good  night. 


48 


ONLY. 


I  'm  going."  "  Are  yon,  it 's  early,  is  it 
not?''  ^' Yes,  and  dnil."  "Why,  you 
seemed  very  happy  just  now.''  "  Happy  !" 
he  answered,  contemptuously  tossing  his 
head ;  "  what  a  pity  that  very  charming 
woman,  with  so  many  nice  points  in  her 
character,  should  be  such  an  arrant  co- 
quette." He  might  have  heard  a  melodi- 
ous voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  say, 
''  What  a  pity  that  Mr.  Lovell  should  be 
so  censorious  and  sarcastic,  when  he  has 
so  many  fme  points  in  his  character." 

Ay,  ten  thousand  pities  !  that  good  hearts 
and  good  intellects  should  go  forth  into  the 
world  in  masquerade  dresses,  which  send 
home  those  who  judge  alone  by  the  exte- 
rior with  a  sigh  for  the  heartlessness  and 
folly  of  that  higher  class,  which  they  ought 
to  and  would  respect,  if  they  saw  them  as 
they  really  are.  Could  the  Hon.  Herbert 
Lovell  have  seen  the  bright  coquette  with- 
out that  '•'  becoming  point "  in  her  simple 
morning  dress,  talking  in  the  sweetest, 
gentlest  tones  of  reproof  to  one  of  her  chil- 
dren, hear  the  fine  sense,  the  high  princi- 
ples, she  was  inculcating,  he  would    have 


I 


A9 


blushed,  first  for  her,  that  she  could  ever 
so  sully  her  own  pure  nature,  and  then  for 
himself,  that  he  had  harbored  a  thought 
unworthy  of  her;  and  the  beautiful  Mrs. 
Fraser,  could  she  have  seen  the  censorious, 
sarcastic  man,  talking  kindly,  cheerfully 
and  condescendingly,  to  the  poor  laborers 
on  his  estate,  not  one  of  whom  did  not  bless 
him  as  he  passed,  would  say  more  warm- 
ly, more  heartily,  "  what  a  pity  his  words 
should  thus  belie  his  heart."  But  he  has 
left  the  party  and  so  must  we,  and  take 
our  way  to  a  very  different  street,  and  a 
very  different  house  to  the  brilliantly  light- 
ed one  we  are  leaving. 


50 


CHAPTER  in. 

In  a  worse  locality  even  than  the  one  in 
which  we  first  found  them,  and  in  a  closer, 
dirtier,  poorer  room,  are  assembled  our  old 
acquaintances,  the  Rawdons.  On  a  three- 
legged  stool  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  sits 
Martin,  pale  and  thin,  his  clothes  ragged 
and  dirty,  coughing  occasionally  with  a 
hard  hollow  cough,  which  makes  Ellen, 
who  is  seated  beside  him  working  by  the 
dim  light  of  a  miserable  candle,  look  up 
anxiously  at  him  and  sigh. 

A  boy  about  fourteen  is  asleep  on  the 
floor,  covered  with  a  piece  of  carpet,  and 
in  the  opposite  corner  to  her  husband  sits 
Mrs.  Rawdon,  her  arms  folded  together,  her 
lips  tightly  compressed,  with  a  dogged,  al- 
most savage  expression  on  her  face ;  save 
the  three  seats  they  are  using,  and  the  small 
table  at  which  Ellen  is  working,  no  furni- 
ture is  in  the  room.     Their  bed  is  a  mat- 


m 


trass  made  up  on  a  trunk  with  a  few  thin 
torn  clothes,  —  a  woman  up  stairs  shares 
her  bed  with  Ellen.  There  was  a  stillness 
in  the  room,  only  broken  by  Martin's 
cough,  and  the  click  of  Ellen's  needle.  A 
church-clock  chimed  the  quarter  to  twelve  ; 
Ellen  rose  and  began  to  put  away  her  work. 
"  Now,  Mr.  Rawdon,"  asked  his  wife,  in  the 
harsh  tone  which  time  had  had  no  power  to 
soften,  "have  you  yet  made  /mp  your  mind 
about  the  'house,' — I  can't  starve,  and  I 
sees  no  prospect  of  any  thing  else."  "What 
say,  Nell  lass,"  said  Martin,  looking  up  in 
his  daughter's  face,  with  an  expression  of 
almost  childlike  confidence."  "  There 
seems  to  be  nothing  else  for  us,  father," 
was  the  meek  reply;  "Mrs.  Morgan  pays 
me  very  well  for  my  work,  but  it  can't 
keep  us  all." 

"No  '  sinivationSj'  Miss  Ellen,  if  you 
please,  you've  no  cause  to  accuse  me  of 
idleness,  I've  a'most  walked  my  legs  off  to- 
day, a  trying  to  find  something."  "I  never 
so  much  as  thought  of  such  a  thing,  mo- 
ther; I  know  you've  tried,  we've  all  tried, 
but  there  seems  no  help  for  us  but  in  the 


52 


Almighty,  He  alone  can  help  us."  "  That's 
the  way  you  and  your  precious  father  have 
preached  ever  since  the  trouble  fell  on  us, 
but  the  help  's  a  good  Avhile  a  coming." 

In  his  weak  and  hollow  voice,  so  weak 
and  hollow  that  it  sounded  like  a  voice 
from  another  world,  Martin  said,  "  The 
help  did  come,  when  Heaven  took  away 
the  little  children,  when  we'd  no  longer 
food  to  give  'em,  and  left  us  only  those  as 
are  big  enough  to  work  for  themselves  and 
us."  Mrs.  Rawdon  started  to  her  feet  as 
she  exclaimed,  "  Man,  do  you  call  that 
help,  which  took  from  me  all  as  was  left  to 
comfort  me?"  and  laying  her  head  against 
the  wall,  she  sobbed,  as  one  would  scarcely 
credit  such  a  being  could.  Neither  Martin 
nor  Ellen  spoke  again,  the  latter  crept  quiet- 
ly away  to  bed,  poor  Martin  lay  down  on 
the  wretched  mattrass,  and  when  his  wife 
had  sobbed  until  she  was  exhausted,  she 
too  lay  down  beside  him,  and  with  some- 
thing more  of  gentleness  than  was  her 
wont,  said,  "  Good  night,  Martin,  our  bed 
won't  be  no  harder  than  this  in  the  Work- 
'ouse. 


si 


And  whence  had  all  this  misfortune  come 
upon  the  Rawdons?  those  will  ask  who  take 
an  interest  in  our  tale.  Seldom  does  mise- 
ry such  as  this,  fall  on  those  who  have  not 
pulled  the  ruin  on  themselves,  "  Idleness, 
the  root  of  all  evil,"  began  the  mischief. 
Martin,  while  he  found  that  his  wife's  busi- 
ness kept  the  wolf  from  the  door,  and  his 
daughter's  industry  found  him  in  the  small 
comforts  which  he  needed,  took  no  further 
trouble  ;  from  his  boyhood  Martin  had  never 
liked  work,  and  the  disinclination  grew  of 
course  stronger  with  age.  But  when  Ellen 
left  her  situation  and  came  home,  thus  not 
only  depriving  him  of  those  comforts  she 
had  accustomed  him  to,  but  adding  of  course 
to  the  expense,  Martin  began  to  repent  his 
idle  courses,  and  to  wish  he  could  get  some- 
thing to  do ;  but  no  further  than  wishing 
did  Martin  go,  and  dearly  as  Ellen  loved 
him,  she  could  scarcely  wonder  at  the  re- 
peated angry  words  levelled  at  him  by  his 
energetic  wife. 

Yes,  there  was  no  lack'  of  energy  or 
industry  about  Mrs.  Rawdon,  but  to  be 
smiled  on  by  what  some  men  call  Fate, 
5* 


54 


and  others  Providence,  needs  something 
more  than  either ;  joined  to  these  two  great 
aids  to  independence  there  must  be,  some  of 
those  gentler,  hoher  virtues,  without  which 
we  are  "  nothing  worth; "  meanness,  hard 
deahngs  with  our  fellow-men,  harsh  words, 
forgetfulness  of  our  own  weakness  and 
wickedness,  and  of  the  goodness  and  power 
of  God,  render  indeed  of  "  none  effect"  the 
good  seeds  of  industry  and  energy ;  and 
such  was  the  case  with  Mrs.  Rawdon.  Her 
meanness,  her  hard  dealings,  her  harshness 
to  the  poor  creatures  who  came  often  mad- 
dened by  despair,  and  the  last  faint  ray  of 
hope  extinguished  by  her  sharp  denial  to 
give  them  the  paltry  sums  they  demanded, 
in  time  had  their  etfect, — none  would  come 
to  her,  her  savageness  became  a  bye-word 
in  the  place,  and  soon  total  loss  of  custom 
obliged  her  to  resign  the  business. 

Martin  had,  as  we  have  said,  relied  on 
Ellen  for  money  whenever  he  needed  it,  and 
for  the  tirst  time  she  disappointed  him, 
when  little  Stuart  Vernon  omitted  to  pay 
her  the  shilling.  "Only''  a  shilhng  !  El- 
len thought  it  was  "only"  a  shilling,  and 


''  ONLY."  55 

would  not  ask  Master  Stuart  for  it,  and  that 
"only"  a  shilling,  could  not  be  of  much 
importance  to  her  father,  but  he  had 
thought  "  only  "  a  shilling  could  not  be  of 
much  importance  to  the  tobacconist,  and 
owing  him  one  shilling,  he  had  soon  owed 
him  two  and  three  and  even  more,  until  at 
length  the  man  grew  impatient,  and  finally 
angry,  when  Martin  brought  him  four  shil- 
lings instead  of  five  promised  on  that  day  : 
and  a  furious  outbreak  fronj  Mrs.  Rawdon 
on  the  man's  repeated  applications  for  his 
money,  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  busi- 
ness, and  he  rested  not  until  he  had  induced 
every  person  in  the  neighborhood  to  refuse 
them  credit;  —  and  with  a  grin  of  triumph, 
stood  at  his  shop-door,  as  the  wretched  fam- 
ily passed  it  on  their  way  to  the  one  room 
they  were  now  forced  to  inhabit. 

As  misfortunes  seldom  come  single,  poor 
Ellen  could  obtain  no  permanent  situation, 
and  at  length  determined  to  remain  at  home 
and  endeavor  to  support  the  family  with 
her  needle.  Sickness  followed,  and  laid  in 
the  grave  the  two  young  children,  and  this 
crushed  the  mother's  spirit,  and  she  seemed 


56  <'ONLY." 

to  sit  down  doggedly  determined  to  starve. 
But  when  starving  in  truth  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  the  gaunt  spectre  terrified  her, 
and  she  endeavored  to  obtain  a  hving  by 
charing ;  but  Mrs.  Rawdon  had  been  terri- 
fied, not  cured,  and  still  the  bad  spirit  drag- 
ged her  down,  and  brought  them  all,  to 
what  we  have  described ;  none  would  sub- 
mit to  her  temper,  and  she  was  compelled 
to  resign  even  this  feeble  etTort  towards  sub- 
sistence. 

The  wretched  family  awoke  early,  as  is 
ever  the  case  when  some  change  awaits  us, 
even  for  weal  or  woe,  and  again  when  they 
were  all  assembled  came  the  oft  recurring 
question,  what  they  were  to  do.  "Well,  I 
propose  this,"  said  Ellen;  "I've  been  think- 
ing how  best  to  manage,  and  I  believe  the 
best  to  be,  that  you  and  father  should  go  in 
the  house,  and  let  me  keep  on  this  room  a 
bit,  and  with  what  I  can  get  by  needlework 
and  Tom  can  earn,  we  may  soon  be  able  to 
save  a  little,  and  then  we  can  get  you  out 
again,  and  be  happy  once  more ;  indeed 
if  I  could  get  a  few  decent  clothes  together, 
I   might  be  able  to  get  a  good  situation." 


"ONLY."  57 

Ere  Ellen  could  receive  a  reply,  a  low  tap 
at  the  door  disturbed  them  ;  which  on  open- 
ing admitted  a  very  neatly  dressed  woman, 
who  smiled  with  an  air  of  recognition  on 
the  assembled  group. 

"You  don't  know  me,  I  dare  say,  but 
I  do  you,"  said  the  new  comer  in  a  very 
cheerful  voice,  which  sounded  somewhat 
strangely  in  that  room,  gloomy  with  the 
hopelessness  and  despair  of  its  inmates;  "  I 
look  different  now,  to  what  I  did  when  I 
came  to  you  some  years  ago.  I  say  Mrs. 
Rawdon,  this  ain't  washed  out,  is  it?"  she 
continued  smiling  and  holding  up  the  bright 
blue  gown  she  wore,  "  ah  !  well  it's  no  time 
for  joking,  nor  calling  up  bygones  now, 
except  so  far  as  to  make  me  known  to  you, 
—  my  name  is  Griffiths,  and  you  and  I 
once  disagreed  about  a  little  matter  of  busi- 
ness, Mrs.  Rawdon."  There  was  no  need 
of  this  additional  information,  her  first  ques- 
tion and  the  action  of  holding  up  the  dress, 
had  recalled  to  Mrs.  Rawdon's  recollection 
a  fact  which  had  scarcely  ever  been  lulled 
into  forgetfulness.  From  the  moment  of 
her  hard  and  cruel  refusal  to  buy  the  gown 


58 


of  a  poor  creature  evidently  in  the  last 
stage  of  misery  and  despair,  her  sad  face, 
and  the  heavy  sigh  she  had  uttered,  had 
haunted  Mrs.  Rawdon  night  and  day,  and 
as  the  woman  spoke,  a  flush  of  shame  cov- 
ered her  pale  face,  and  she  could  only 
answer,  "I  remember."  '-Well  then,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Griffiths,  in  the  same  bright 
cheerful  tone  so  unlike  the  feeble  one  in 
which  she  had  once  addressed  her,  "  I  've  a 
long  story  to  tell." 

Ellen  pointed  to  a  seat,  and  all  eagerly 
listened  to  her  recital.  '•  After  that  misera- 
ble morning  when  I  was  so  unlucky  about 
my  poor  gown,  I  went  home  to  my  bit  of 
a  place,  as  miserable  a  one  as  this,  and 
sat  down  on  a  chair,  broken-hearted,  to 
wait  patiently  for  something;  Id  tried  as 
much  as  1  could  myself,  and  it  seemed  no 
use  trying ;  one  blessing,  I  was  a  widow 
and  childless,  I  thought  it  hard  when  I  lost 
them,  for  I  was  very  young,  but  I  thought 
it  a  mercy  then.  I'd  been  often  told  that 
God  cared  for  all,  but  as  I  sat  there  starv- 
ing, I  thouglit  it  must  be  a  mistake,  or 
else  that  amongst  so  very  many,   it   was 


«•'  ONLY."  59 

no  wonder  I  should  be  forgotten,  for 
what  indeed  had  I  done  to  be  remembered? 
I  sat  in  a  sort  of  stupor  there,  till  I  was 
roused  by  the  woman  of  the  house,  who 
came  and  asked  me  if  I  'd  mind  going  to 
nurse  a  lady  who  was  very  ill ;  they'd  sent 
for  her  and  she  could  n't  go." 

"  Well,  I  need  not  tell  you  how  glad  I 
was,  nor  how  I  went  and  got  well  paid, 
and  was  recommended  elsewhere,  and  got 
on  famously ;  I  often  passed  your  shop, 
and  at  last  I  heard  of  all  your  trouble,  and 
made  acquaintance  with  a  friend  of  yours  at 
last,"  and  she  glanced  at  Ellen:  "he  told 
me  of  your  daughter's  goodness,  and  of  how 
often  she  had  failed  in  keeping  a  situation. 
I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  I  seemed 
always  to  be  so  sorry  for  you,  so  sorry  you 
should  be  brought  down  to  what  I  was 
once,  and  every  one  said  your  daughter 
was  so  good,  and  so  I  determined  if  I  could, 
I'd  get  her  a  situation,  and  I  have,  and  as 
soon  as  she  likes  she 's  to  go,  and  it 's  twelve 
guineas  a  year,  there  now !  and  I  was  to 
give  you  this  letter;"  and  placing  one  in 
Ellen's  hand,  at  which  she  blushed  deeply. 


00  "ONLY." 

Mrs.  GrifRths  drew  a  long  breath,  very 
needful,  after  the  vokible  manner  in  which 
she  had  dehvered  herself  of  this  oration. 

Ellen  uttered  a  deep  and  heartfelt  "  thank 
you,'"  it  was  all  she  could  say.  Martin 
said  "Well,  I  never,"  it  was  all  he  could 
say,  and  that  was  followed  by  a  violent  fit  : 
of  coughing;  but  Mrs.  Rawdon  said,  "I've 
heard  many  strange  things,  but  1  never 
heard  any  thing  so  strange  as  this,  I'm  very 
much  obliged  to  you,  and  I'm  very  glad 
for  Ellen's  sake,  but  for  us  it's  no  use, 
we  must  go  where  we  was  going,  in  the 
house."  '-Xo,  no,  mother,  —  father,  here, 
listen,  look,  read,  it 's  too  much  !  "  and  giv- 
ing the  letter  to  her  father,  Ellen,  throwing 
her  apron  over  her  face,  burst  into  an  hys- 
terical fit  of  weeping,  while  Mrs.  Griffiths 
gazed  from  one  to  the  other,  with  a  bright 
look  of  happiness  in  her  honest  face,  and  a 
feeling  in  her  heart  so  glad,  that  it  was 
cheaply  purchased,  even  by  the  magnanim- 
ity with  which  she  had  thus  returned 
"good  for  evil;*' — she  knew  the  contents 
of  that  letter  which  had  so  excited  Ellen, 
and  our  readers  must  not  be  more  ignorant 
—  it  ran  as  follows  :  ■ 


@^ 


*'A  long  time  has  gone  by,  Ellen  dear, 
since  you  said  it  was  better,  you  thought, 
to  drop  all  writings,  all  intimacy.  I  knew 
what  you  meant,  and  how  good  your  mo- 
tive was.  I  've  done  all  I  could  to  keep  out 
of  your  way,  but  yet  I've  never  lost  sight 
of  you,  and  all  your  patience.  My  good 
friend  Mrs.  Griffiths  has  fonnd  you  a  situ- 
ation, and  I,  dear  Ellen,  have  been  so  lucky 
as  to  find  one  for  your  father  and  mother, 
if  they  '11  take  it :  it 's  a  gentleman  of  large 
property  wants  a  country  house  taken  care 
of,  and  kept  clean,  and  will  give  them  some 
little  matter  a  year,  which,  with  being  rent 
free,  will,  I  hope,  be  a  living.  Send  me  a 
message  by  Mrs.  Griffiths,  and  if  'yes,' 
your  father  and  mother  can  go  directly, 
for  the  gentleman  will  take  whoever  I  re- 
commend.    Your's  till  death,  Joe." 

It  is  needless  to  express  the  happiness, 
the  more  than  happiness  which  the  Raw- 
dons  felt  on  their  singular  and  wonderful 
deliverance.  How  Martin  in  the  pauses 
of  his  cough  positively  galloped  about  the 
room,  hugging  every  body,  even  Mrs.  Grif- 

6 


62  ^'ONLY." 

fiths,  even  (!)  his  wife,  and  how  Ellen  sent 
such  a  message  to  Joe,  which  is  of  course 
no  business  of  ours ;  suflice  it  both  situations 
were  accepted,  and  some  poor  creatures 
needing  it  more,  found  the  refuge  in  the 
"house  "  in  place  of  the  Rawdons. 


ONLY.' 


63 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Well,  dear  Edith,"  said  Mrs.  Carys- 
fort,  entering  the  httle  boudoir  some  days 
after  their  arrival,  "now  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  my  party  last  evening  to  you. 
Kate  has  already  heard  all  the  particulars, 
and  by  so  doing  made  me  thus  shame- 
fully late,  refusing  to  vacate  my  apartment 
and  permit  me  to  dress  till  I  had  related  the 
minutiae  of  the  whole  evening."  Edith  look- 
ed up  from  the  letter  she  was  perusing,  and 
with  a  somewhat  sad  smile,  said,  "I  trust 
you  had  a  pleasant  party."  "Very,  but  I 
fear  I  am  interrupting  you;  I  should  first 
have  demanded  if  my  entrance  was  an  in- 
trusion on  graver  matters."  "Not  at  all, 
dear  Mrs.  Carysfort,  I  am  glad  to  have  my 
thoughts  diverted,"  and  sighing  gently, 
Edith  placed  the  letter  on  the  table,  and 
rose  to  give  Mrs.  Carysfort  a  chair. — 
"Thank  you,  love;  well  then,  to  begin  at 


64  ''ONLY." 

the  beginning:  "I  am  in  love,  with  the 
most  charming  man^  and  do  not  indulge 
now  for  a  moment  in  the  romantic  idea  of 
eclipsing  me,  for  he  is  much  too  old  for  you. 
He,  too,  has  taken  a  fancy  to  me,  I  think, 
for  he  talked  to  me  all  the  evening,  and 
such  talking,  no  commonplaces,  nothing 
about  the  weather,  and  the  opera,  but  evi- 
dencing good  sound  high  sense,  and  the 
expansive  mind  of  a  travelled  man,  —  he 
seems  to  have  been  to  Egypt  and  every- 
where, but  the  most  provoking  part  of  it  is 
that  I  could  not  catch  his  name  ;  though 
every  one  was  begging  to  be  introduced  to 
him,  I  missed  the  name  each  time  ;  I  can 
assure  you  the  ladies  looked  quite  envious 
of  his  long  conversation  with  me.  Mrs. 
Fisher  has  one  more  evening,  and  I  must 
go,  if  it  be  only  to  see  my  new  charming 
friend." 

Again  Edith  smiled,  and  was  about  to 
make  some  reply,  when  the  door  opened 
and  admitted  Kate.  "  Have  you  heard  of 
mamma's  conquest,  Edith?  fancy  mamma 
going  out  and  making  conquests,  instead 
of  taking  me  out,  to  make  them ;  I  never 


"ONLY.''  %S 

heard  of  such  a  thing,  but  now  you  must 
indulge  yourself  no  longer  in  conversing 
about  this  divinity,  for  here  are  butchers, 
bakers,  and  candlestick-makers  awaiting 
your  ladyship's  orders,  and  ere  you  go," 
continued  Kate,  in  a  melo-dramatic  whisper, 
"remember  this,  neither  I  nor  Edith  Yer- 
non  like  lamb, —  so  now  my  sweet  precious 
darling  mother,  vanish,"  and  gaily  push- 
ing Mrs.  Carysfort  out  of  the  room,  she 
turned  to  Edith  and  said,  "you  have  had 
a  letter  from  your  brother,  have  you  not? 
tell  me  all  about  him,  I  think  he's  very 
handsome,  and  very  nice,  for  a  man  at 
least."  "Yes,  I  have  had  a  letter  dear, 
he's  quite  well,  "  continued  Edith;  "if  you 
will  go  down  and  prepare  the  Italian,  I  am 
coming  to  read  vv^ith  you  in  a  moment,  but 
I  must  answer  his  letter  by  this  post." 
"That  means  to  say  you  don't  want  me, 
so  good  bye,  Miss."  "  Forgive  me,  dear 
Kate,  if  I  seem  blunt,  T  am  so  worried," 
and  poor  Edith's  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  in 
a  moment  Kate's  arms  were  round  her 
neck,  and  her  warm  kisses  showered  on 
her  face.  "  Forgive  me,  you  mean,  darling 
"  6* 


66  '•  ONLY." 

Edith,  it's  just  like  my  want  of  tact  not  to 
see  you  did  not  wish  me  to  stay,  instead  of 
making  you  say  so;  now  I  "11  go,  and  don't 
think  about  me  or  the  stupid  Italian,  we'll 
have  a  holiday,  won't  we,  my  own  sweet 
precious  angel :"  and  kissing  her  vehement- 
ly again,  she  left  the  room  and  poor  Edith, 
to  peruse  the  letter  once  more,  and  once 
more  to  consider  how  she  was  to  reply  to 
it.     It  was  as  follows  :  — 

^'  My  dear  Sister, 

"I  dare  say  you  are  full  of  wonder  at  my 
long  silence,  and  I  must  own  your  daily 
letter  somewhat  reproaches  me,  but  there 
really  is  nothing  I  hate  so  much  as  writing, 
when  I  have  nothing  to  say,  —  which  has 
positively  been  the  case  lately ;  you  girls 
can  always  find  something  to  say,  but  what 
can  I  tell  you  that  can  possibly  interest 
you.  and  now  that  I  have  something  to  tell 
you,  1  positively  don't  know  how  to  begin; 
however,  it  is  not  my  fault,  and  so  it  can't 
be  helped,  but  the  fact  is  I  am  going  to  ask 
you  if  you  can  do  without  your  quarter's 


67 


money,  for  if  you  can't  I  really  do  not 
know  what  I'm  to  do.  Somehow  or  other 
I  've  got  into  debt  about  the  neighborhood, 
and  yesterday  one  fellow  said  he  should  ap- 
ply to  Mr.  Feversham  if  I  didn't  pay  him; 
now  I  am  sure  neither  you  nor  I  could  think 
of  asking  him  for  a  penny,  after  his  father's 
generosity,  besides  I  should  not  exactly  wish 
him  to  know  any  thing  about  it.  I  had  prom- 
ised to  pay  this  chap  last  quarter,  but  I  found 
somehow  I  'd  only  enough  left  to  pay  my 
subscription  to  the  Cricket  Club,  and  that 
of  course  I  can't  give  up,  as  with  all  the 
close  study  I  have,  exercise  is  positively 
necessary.  1  foolishly  worried  myself  about 
all  this,  till  the  good  thought  occurred  to 
me  of  drawing  all  the  money  for  myself 
this  quarter,  if  you  could  possibly  do  wi.th- 
out  it,  and  then  I  shall  be  very  nearly  clear; 
and  you  know,  dear,  it  can't  inconvenience 
you  much,  for  you  can  draw  it  all  next 
quarter,  it  will  come  exactly  to  the  same 
thing.  Surely  if  you  want  a  few  shillings, 
the  Carysforts  might  lend  them  you,  —  a 
shilling  or  two  to  them  can  be  nothing. 
Remember  me  to  them,  particularly  to  pret- 


68 


ty  little  Kate.     Enjoy  yourself  very  much, 
and  believe  me  your  affectionate  brother. 

S.  V. 
"  Pray  write  by  return  to  say,  yes. " 

The  dark  "  coming  events "  had  too 
truly  '-cast  their  shadows  before"'  Mrs. 
Vernon,  when  she  had  mourned  the  '-dan- 
gerous disposition  of  the  boy  she  must  leave 
with  a  very  small  fortune,  and  a  young 
sister  to  take  care  of." 

"Oh  !  Stuart,  Stuart,"  said  Edith,  throw- 
ing the  letter  down  !  "  how  could  you  be  so 
thoughtless,"  and  again  the  painful  contrast 
between  her  love  and  his  was  forced  upon 
her.  "  Could  I  thus  coolly  have  asked 
Inm  for  his  little  pittance?  —  but  it  is  only 
thoughtlessness,  he  does  love  me,  and  if  he 
thought  or  believed  I  should  go  without 
even  a  pair  of  gloves,  he  would  not  ask  it ; 
I  know,  of  course,  he  must  have  the  money, 
but  how  shall  I  be  fulfilling  dear  Mr.  Fever- 
sham's  commands,  what  shall  I  do  7  "  and 
she  drew  from  her  desk  a  paper  worn  with 
reading,  and  half  aloud  repeated  its  con- 
tents; "I  would  have  you  always  mindful 


69 


of  the  many  opportunities,  even  the  hum- 
blest amongst  us  may  find  of  doing  good  to 
one  another;  your  income  is  small,  and  the 
use  you  make  of  it  must  of  course  be  pro- 
portionate. 

"  That  word  'only,'  against  which  I  have 
so  often  warned  you,  is  dangerous  when 
abused,  but  when  rightfully  applied  you 
will  find  It  very  useful.  Remember,  for 
instance,  how  the  small  sum  of  a  shilling, 
given  to  some  poor  worthy  being,  will  bene- 
fit him,  how  much  he  can  buy,  how  many 
of  his  humble  wants  he  can  satisfy  with 
'only'  a  shilling,  and  when  tempted  with 
some  frivolity  to  expend  this  small  sum, 
remember  if  you  can  spare  it  at  all,  it  is  better 
it  should  buy  you  a  poor  man's  blessing." 
"  Dear  old  man,  and  how  am  I  to  act  as 
these  his  last  wishes  dictate,  if  I  yield  every 
farthing  to  my  brother  ?  and  yet  that  is  my 
duty  too,  very  nearly  clear,  though  even 
when  I  have  made  this  sacrifice,  what 
shall  I  do  with  no  one  to  advise  me?  for  I 
caimot  tell  a  story  so  much  against  my 
brother,  puzzled  as  I  am,  unadvised,  alone; 
I  have  but  one  course  to  pursue,  he  must 
have  what  he  asks." 


70  "OxNLY." 

Her  letter  was  soon  written,  her  heart 
was  too  full  for  more  than  the  simple  words, 
"  all  that  I  have  to  give  is  yours,  I  wusi 
learn  to  do  without."  And  she  did  try  to 
learn,  but  it  was  a  hard  lesson,  young  as 
she  was,  to  exercise  such  incessant  self-con- 
trol and  self-denial;  and  moreover  to  incur 
the  suspicion  of  an  extravagance,  which 
had  left  her  without  sixpence,  was  very 
hard ;  hard  to  be  left  at  home,  when  her 
friends  went  to  some  place  of  amusement, 
rather  than  incur  the  painful  acknowledg- 
ment that  she  had.no  money;  but  harder 
still  to  one  brought  up  as  she  had  been,  to 
be  compelled  to  deny  to  the  sick  and  suffer- 
ing, the  trifling  aid  she  had  hitherto  afforded 
them.  And  Stuart,  how  did  he  appreci- 
ate his  sister's  sacrifice?  He  would  have 
laughed  at  the  person  calling  it  by  so  grand 
a  name. 

Edith  did  him  justice  so  far,  when  she 
said  he  never  dreamt  that  she  would  have 
a  pair  of  gloves  the  less;  he  never  tliought 
about  it  at  all,  he  only  knew  he  wanted 
money,  and  that  she  alone  could  and  would 
supply  it.     He   was   seated  at   the   study 


"  ONLY."  71 

table,  deep  in  his  Virgil  apparently,  but  his 
thoughts  were  not  so  classically  employed; 
instead  of  gentle  shepherds,  and  gods  and 
goddesses,  tailors  and  bootmakers  with  aw- 
ful bills,  filled  his  imagination ;  when  his 
sister's  brief  epistle  was  placed  in  his  hands. 
*'0h!  come,  that's  capital"  he  said,  stuf- 
fing the  letter  in  his  pocket,  "to-morrow 
I'll  draw  it,  and  then  I  can  pay  nearly 
every  body  ;  now  I  shall  enjoy  my  trip  with 
Mr.  Feversham.  Oh !  here  you  are.  Sir," 
he  said,  as  Mr.  Feversham  entered  the 
room,  "I  am  quite  ready  to  go  with  you, 
whenever  you  like.  I  'm  not  at  all  in  a 
studying  humor,  and  with  your  permission 
I'll  write  my  exercises  in  the  evening." 
"Very  well,  yes,  if  you  prefer  it,  then  we 
will  go  at  once,  for  it 's  a  long  way ;  will 
you  like  to  ride  or  drive  ?  " 

"  Oh !  ride,  Sir,  if  you  please.  May  I 
take  Lara?"  "Yes,  if  he's  not  too  much 
for  you  ;  remember  it  is  a  long  way." 
"  Oh  !  I  'm  not  afraid  of  that.  Sir."  "  Ring 
then,  my  boy,  and  we  '11  order  the  horses 
round. " 

The  bell  was  rung,  the  horses   ordered, 


72  "only."' 

and  they  started  on  their  journey, —  its  pur- 
port to  look  over  a  house  for  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Feversham's,  at  the  httle  village  of  Carys- 
foot,  some  nine  miles  distant.  It  was  a 
glorious  day  for  a  ride,  rain  had  fallen  in 
the  night  sutticient  to  lay  tlie  dust,  and 
make  the  roads  brown,  and  the  leaves  and 
grass  a  fresher,  brighter  green.  A  few  light 
feathery  clouds  were  scudding  over  the  blue 
sky,  as  though  they  were  bound  on  some 
scheme  of  pleasure  themselves,  a  light 
breeze  stirred  the  trees  softly,  and  swept 
over  the  cornfields,  bending  the  heavy  ears 
of  wheat,  and  gently  shaking  the  graceful 
barley.  Part  of  their  way  lie  through  a 
wood,  and  over  the  moss-grown  path  they 
gently  led  their  horses,  enjoying  its  refresh- 
ing coolness,  after  the  hot  road.  The  still- 
ness round  was  pleasingly  disturbed  by  the 
chorus  of  birds:  myriads  of  tiny  blue  but- 
terflies flitted  about,  and  here  and  there  on 
some  shrub,  with  its  exquisitely  painted 
wings  expanded,  lay  one  of  a  larger  kind, 
like  some  rich  blossom  clustered  amongst 
the  leaves.  From  amidst  the  fern  and 
brushwood   a   hare   would   now   and  then 


"  ONLY."  73 

dart  forth,  and  disappear,  and  a  squirrel 
fly  up  a  tree  for  refuge,  startled  by  the 
movements  of  the  party.  Hidden  by  the 
thick  treees,  but  betrayed  by  their  glad 
voices,  children  were  seeking  wild  straw- 
berries, and  some  old  wood-cutter,  seated 
on  the  tree  he  had  felled,  is  eating  his  din- 
ner from  the  blue  cotton  handkerchief  in 
which  it  had  been  carried,  with  a  tin  mug 
of  beer  beside  him ;  these  were  all  the  traces 
of  human  beings  they  met  with  in  the  still 
wood,  to  tell  them,  they  alone  were  not  the 
tenants  of  the  bright  and  beautiful  world. 

They  had  ridden  on  in  gay  and  cheerful 
conversation,  scarcely  noticing  the  time,  and 
arrived  at  length  at  the  house.     An  avenue 
I  of  fine  chestnuts  formed  the  approach,  enter- 
ed by  old-fashioned  iron  gates,  the  coronet 
'  and  initials  of  the  first  owner  surmounting 
!  them.     One  wing   of  the   house   could   be 
,  partially  seen  through   the   trees,   and   be- 
yond, a  sloping  lawn,  gay  with  parterres  of 
i  flowers,   terminated   by  an  invisible  fence, 
jand  two  large  cedar  trees  forming  a  frame 
'to  the  view  of  a  champagne  coimtry  in  the 
distance  ;  a  large  board  inside  the  gates  an- 
nounces "  To  let,  this  fine  freehold  property, 
7 


74  ''only.' 

with  several  acres  of  land,  conservatories, 
hot-houses,  grapery,  excellent  twelve-stall 
stable,  coach-house,  etc.  For  further  partic- 
ulars, inqmre  of  Messrs.  J.  6c  H.  Robertson, 
House  Agents,  High  Street,  Caryslbut."' 

They  rang  the  bell  at  the  pretty  pictur- 
esque lodge,  beneath  the  porch  of  which  sat 
an  old  dame,  while  a  thrush  in  its  wicker 
cage  seemed  singing  her  to  sleep,  and  the 
summons  was  answered  by  a  younger  wo- 
man, and  two  or  three  dogs,  who  ran  out 
barking  violently  at  the  strangers.  "  To  see 
the  house,  —  oh  !  yes,  Sir,  certainly,  down 
Nettle,  be  quiet  Cora,  the  dogs  is  quite  good 
tempered,  but  they  do  make  a  rare  noise  at 
strangers.  Sir.  Step  in  if  you  please,  he 
down  Frisk,  where  "s  the  whip;  gentlemen 
to  see  the  house,  mother,"'  she  continued  in 
a  much  louder  key  to  the  old  woman ; 
"  will  you  go  up  with  them  J ''  '•  Aye,  aye, 
I  suppose  1  must,''  she  answered  in  a  some- 
what querulous  tone,  and  taking  up  a  stick 
which  stood  in  the  corner,  she  led  the  way 
through  the  avenue,  followed  by  Stuart 
and  Mr.  Feversham  ;  arrived  at  the  house 
she  pulled  the  bell  at  the  front  door,  and 
muttering    "  there's   people   inside   as    will 


40 


show  you  over  it,"  turned  round  and  walk- 
ed away,  "  What  a  glorious  place,  Sir,  is 
it  not  ?  "  asked  Stuart,  as  they  stood  wait- 
ing to  be  admitted.  The  door  was  plate 
glass,  and  through  it  could  be  seen  a  hall  of 
tesselated  pavement,  and  a  marble  staircase 
with  gilt  balustrades.  "  Yes,  too  fine  a 
place  for  my  friend,  I  think;  the  rent  must 
be  enormous.'*'  A  tall  woman,  with  a  some- 
what crabbed  expression  of  countenance, 
but  looking  extremely  neat  and  clean,  now 
opened  the  door,  and  they  entered.  "Can 
we  see  the  house '?  "  asked  Mr.  Feversham. 
"  Yes,  Sir,  there's  some  gentry  looking  over 
it  now,  but  I  suppose  that 's  no  odds  to 
you?"  the  woman  said.  "Oh!  no,"  he 
answered.  "  This  way  then,  Sir,"  and  fol- 
lowing their  guide  they  went  through  the 
suites  of  rooms,  and  finally  into  the  grounds. 
A  man  looking  thin  and  ill,  and  with  a  vio- 
lent cough,  was  making  somewhat  feeble 
efforts  towards  clearing  one  of  the  paths 
from  weeds  and  dead  leaves.  "Move  your 
barrow  out  of  the  way,  Martin,"  called  the 
woman  in  no  gentle  tones.  The  man,  with- 
out looking  up,  did  as  he  was  ordered,  say- 
ing, "  I  say  though  that'aint  quite  the  right 


sort  of  voice  according  to  the  'greement.'' — 
'•Gentlemea  to  see  the  house,  Martin,'' 
idle  rephed,  with  emphasis.  The  man  did 
look  up  this  time,  and  touching  his  cap, 
moved  out  of  the  way,  "  1  beg  pardon,  gen- 
tlemen,—  thought  you  was  alone,  my  dear." 
'•You  don't  seem  weU,  my  good  man,"'  said 
Mr.  Feversham  kindly.  •'  Well  Sir,  I'm  as 
well  as  I  shall  ever  be,  I  expect,  and  that's 
better  than  1  have  been  ;  we  'aint  been  here 
long,  but  already  I  feel  fresh  air  suits  my 
complaint  better  than  London  smoke." 

"No  doubt  you  will  grow  stronger  each 
day,  I  hope, — your  wife,  I  presume."  '■  Yes, 
Sir,  she  has  that  honor,"  answered  the  man, 
with  a  comic  smile,  which  lighted  up  his 
sickly  face  for  a  moment.  '-I  spoke  to  her 
just  now,  thinking  she  was  alone,  about 
a  "greement  we  "ve  made."'"  '•indeed.*'"  an- 
swered Mr.  Feversham.  "It  must  be  a 
very  agreeable  duty,  the  care  of  this  place, 
so  very  beautiful  as  it  is ;  you  will  be  sorry 
when  it's  let,  I  should  think."'  "Why, 
yes.  Sir,  we  shall,  we  find  ourselves  very 
comtbrtable  now,  —  which  is  a  change  to 
what  we  was.  Ours  is  a  strange  history. 
Sir,  if  you  knowd  it  all  you'd  say  so,  and 


^'ONLY."  7T 

we  're  a  finishirig  it  up  in  a  strange  way. 
We  begun  life  together  under  a  mistake, 
both  of  us  with  a  bad  habit;  mine  was  a 
way  I  'd  got  of  doing  nothing,  which  don't 
improve  a  man's  condition,  and  hers  a 
sharpish  way  of  speaking,  which  don't  im- 
prove a  man's  temper;  and  we  rubbed  on 
very  rusty  hke,  but  just  as  things  got  very 
bad  indeed,  a  wonderful  piece  of  good  for- 
tune came  to  us.  and  so  we  settled  between 
us  to  prove  our  thankfulness  by  trying  to 
break  ourselves  of  these  habits;  and  we 
made  this  'greement  together,  that  I  was  to 
begin  to  work,  and  she  to  leave  oif  being 
cross,  and  if  I  grew  lazy  she  was  to  grow 
cross  and  wise  werse,  and  you'd  be  surpris- 
ed what  a  good  effect  it  has;  we've  been 
here  this  week,  and  I  don't  think  my  old 
woman's  been  cross  more  than  once  or 
twice;  have  you,  Doll?" 

"Hush!  how  you  go  on,  Martin,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Rawdon,  whom  my  readers 
must  by  this  time  have  recognized;  "talk- 
ing so  to  gentlefolks."  "  Don't  reprove  him, 
I  am  accustomed  to  talk  to  persons  in  your 
condition ;  I  am  a  clergyman."  Martin 
raised  his  carp;  "I  am  somewhat  of  a  doc- 


78 


tor,  too,"  continued  Mr.  Feversham,  '-and 
I  will  send  you  something  to  cure  your 
troublesome  cough ;  I  approve  highly  of 
your  contract,  and  wish  you  resolution  to 
keep  it.  Why,  what  has  become  of  my 
young  friend?*'  he  said,  turning  and  find- 
ing Stuart  was  not  beside  him.  '•  He  stroll- 
ed on.  Sir,  whilst  you  was  speaking;  I  dare 
say  he  's  gone  to  the  grapery."  "  Then  we 
will  follow  him ;  good  morning,  my  friend, 
I  will  not  forget  the  remedy."  Martin 
bowed  and  thanked  him,  and  Mr.  Fever- 
sham  pursued  his  way  to  the  grapery,  but 
still  he  did  not  meet  with  Stuart.  A^oices 
and  laughing  were  heard  at  some  distance. 
"  Can  Stuart  have  found  an  acquaintance  7  " 
lie  half  exclaimed.  •'  That 's  the  other  peo- 
ple looking  over  the  house,"  said  Mrs.  Raw- 
don,  answering,  "  they  're  just  a-going  down 
by  the  lake  to  see  the  swans ;  there  's  very 
good  fishing  there,  they  say." 

"Hark!  what  was  that,  a  scream  .^ " 
"jXo,  Sir,  nothing,  only  the  ladies  laugh- 
ing." "That  was  no  laugh.  Hark!  anoth- 
er; something  must  be  the  matter,  some 
accident,  —  the  water,  —  run."  Shriek  suc- 
ceeded shriek,  and  men's  voices  called  for 

1 


help;  there  was  a  noise  of  people  running, 
and  then,  —  no  sound.  Breathlessly  Mr. 
Feversham  and  Mrs.  Rawdon  neared  the 
spot.  Two  fashionably  dressed  women 
were  standing  holding  one  another's  hands, 
one  looking  deadly  pale,  the  other  weeping 
with  terror.  A  gentleman  was  lifting  from 
the  arms  of  a  much  older  man  the  lifeless 
form  of  a  young  lad;  both  were  dripping 
wet.  As  he  drew  nearer,  Mr.  Feversham 
with  horror  recognized  in  the  senseless  form 
before  him,  his  young  charge.  His  agitated 
queries,  how  the  accident  happened,  as  is 
usual,  no  one  could  satisfy ;  they  only  knew 
they  were  all  laughing  and  talking,  and 
throwing  bread  to  the  swans,  when  one  of 
the  gentlemen  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  there  's 
a  boy  in  the  water,"  and  plunged  in  to  his 
assistance. 

He  was  conveyed  to  the  house  by  some 
gardeners  who  had  come  at  the  cry  for  help, 
and  placed  on  the  Rawdons'  bed,  while  med- 
ical aid  was  sought  for;  and  in  the  deepest 
anxiety  Mr.  Feversham  watched  beside  him, 
exerting  every  ingenuity  to  restore  anima- 
tion. By  the  time  the  doctor  arrived,  he 
opened  his  eyes,  but  he  seemed  still  uncon- 


so  ''ONLY." 

scions  of  all  around  him,  and  it  was  deemed 
of  conrse  impossible  to  move  him.  While 
the  medical  man  remained  with  him,  Mr. 
Feversham  went  to  find  his  kind  preserver, 
bnt  the  party  were  gone,  thinking  it  advisa- 
ble that  their  friend  shonld  be  put  immedi- 
ately into  a  warm  bed  in  the  nin ;  he  had 
left  word,  "that  he  should  come  and  see 
the  boy  in  the  morning.*'  Mr.  Feversham, 
therefore,  wrote  a  note  to  express  his  warm 
acknowledgments  for  the  service  he  had 
rendered  to  his  pupil,  Mr.  Yernon.  hoping 
to  thank  him  in  person  on  the  following 
day,  and  dispatched  a  man  on  his  own 
horse,  home,  to  announce  the  accident,  and 
the  necessity  for  his  absence,  and  then  re- 
turned to  the  bedside  of  the  poor  boy. 

A  wretched  night  followed,  fever  set  in, 
as  the  doctor  apprehended ;  and  Mr.  Fever- 
sham could  not  account  for  the  extraordina- 
ry manner  in  which  during  his  delirium 
Stuart  raved  about  money  and  bills;  in  the 
morning  he  fell  asleep,  and  quite  early  came 
the  gentleman  who  had  saved  his  life,  anx- 
iously demanding  to  see  the  boy.  Mr.  Fe- 
versham came  out  to  speak  to  him  ;  he  was 
a  tall  thin  man,  with  a  sallow  complexion, 


ONLY. 


81 


and  a  somewhat  foreign  appearance;  there 
was  evidence  that  in  his  yonth  he  had  been 
handsome,  but  there  was  now  a  strange 
expression  in  his  face,  which  marred  the 
beauty  of  his  features.  A  long  conversa- 
tion ensued,  and  in  an  hour  Mr.  Feversham, 
mounted  on  Lara,  was  on  his  way  home, 
and  die  stranger  was  seated  beside  the  in- 
vahd,  with  his  eyes  riveted  on  his  pale  and 
haggard  face. 

The  bright  glowing  sun  of  a  warm  August 
day  is  gladdening,  with  the  glorious  beauty 
of  its  parting  glances,  the  dim  sight  of  the 
convalescent,  who  is  seated  on  a  beautiful 
lawn,  in  an  arm-chair,  propped  up  by  pil- 
lows, his  feet  supported  by  an  ottoman,  and 
covered  with  a  shawl;  on  one  side  of  him 
is  a  young  and  interesting  woman,  and  on 
the  other,  the  preserver  of  his  life,  the  pa- 
tient watcher  by  his  sick  bed. 

"Ellen,''  he  said,  "I  think  you  may  go 
now ;  we  will  call  you  when  he  wishes  to 
return  to  the  house.  I  thmk  he  quite  en- 
joys the  air,  do  you  not,  Vernon?'"'  "Yes, 
Sir,  very  much,"'  answered  Stuart,  as  he 
languidly  turned  his  head  to  watch  Ellen's 
retreating  footsteps.    "  How  strange  I  should 


82 


fall  ill  here,  where  I  can  have  my  nurse, 
poor  Ellen  Rawdon,  to  take  care  of  me 
again.'' 

'•Yes,  very  strange,  but  truth  is  ever 
stranger  than  fiction  ;  and  to  amuse  you 
while  we  are  here  enjoying  this  delicious 
evening,  I  will  tell  you  a  true  tale,  which 
is  stranger  perhaps  than  aught  you  ever 
dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy,  shall  17" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  if  you  please,  I  am  still  enough 
of  a  baby  to  enjoy  a  story  much."  "  Well, 
then,"  began  his  new  friend,  "there  was 
once  a  young,  ardent,  enthusiastic  boy,  like 
you,  who  was  the  only  child  of  his  mother, 
and  she  was  a  widow ;  idolized  and  spoilt 
the  boy  was.  as  only  children  always  are; 
his  mother  was  rich,  and  no  whim  of  h.er 
darling  child  remained  ungratified.  He 
grew  to  be  a  man,  his  mother  died,  and  he 
was  left  rich,  and  the  world  said  handsome, 
to  be  fawned  on,  and  tlattered,  and  spoilt 
by  that  world  m  his  riper  years,  as  his  mo- 
ther had  spoilt  him  in  his  youth." 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  and  then,  in 
slower  and  somewhat  tremulous  accents, 
continued:  "He  had  always  liked  gaiety 
and   dissipation,  and   now,    unchecked,  he 


pursued  his  course;  at  length  he  loved, 
loved  with  that  mad  impetuosity  which 
marked  his  every  act :  the  girl  was  beauti- 
ful, very  beautiful,  and  he  loved  her,  he  did 
love  her,  Stuart,  remember  I  say  he  did, 
and  let  no  one  persuade  you  he  did  not." 
Stuart  looked  up  amazed  :  the  look  recalled 
the  speaker  to  himself,  and  he  said,  smiling, 
"forgive  me,  how  foolish  I  am;  this  story 
always  excites  me,  I  have  had  angry  argu- 
ments about  it ;  suffice  it,  they  married." 
"And  they  were  happy,  Sir?"  asked  Stu- 
art. "The  world  thought  them  so,  how 
could  they  think  them  otherwise ;  the  man 
was  wealthy  and  handsome,  all  that  the 
world  values  was  his ;  how  could  they 
dream  that  she  was  wretched  ]  how  know 
the  hourly  vexations  to  which  he  exposed 
her]  She  was  gentle,  too  gentle,  and  never 
attempted  to  thwart  his  idle  follies,  or  check 
his  mad  imprudence.  Oh !  had  she  done 
so,  he  would  have  yielded,  for  he  did  love 
her,  —  he  did  love  her ;  he  was  weak,  not 
wicked,  his  money  was  not  spent  in  large 
sums,  but  wasted  in  trifles;  that  wretched 
word  '  only '  was  his  ruin :  years  passed 
on,  tedious  years  to  her,  two  helpless  chil- 


84  ''only." 

dren  claimed  her  care,  and  still  he  went  on 
with  his  reckless  folly,  squandering  wanton- 
ly the  money  Heaven  had  endowed  him 
with  for  higher  purposes;  at  length  the 
gentle,  uncomplaining  wife  grew  sick  and 
ill,  and  there  were  no  means  to  meet  the  in- 
creasing expenses. 

"What  think  you  this  man  did]  —  this 
man.  who  would  have  shot  another  who 
had  called  him  coward,  feared  to  meet  the 
world  poor  and  bankrupt,  feared  to  see  the 
wreck  that  he  himself  had  made,  left  his 
wife  and  children  helpless  and  penniless,  to 
that  cold  world  's  mercy,  and  fled  to  hide 
his  shame,  and  seek  his  fortune  in  another 
land.  Oh  !  there  was  deeper  shame  in 
that."'  "Well,  I  don't  think  so,  Sir.  poor 
man,  if  he  'd  unfortunately  spent  his  money, 
he  could  not  do  better  than  go  and  make 
some  more.''  "Do  not  tell  me  that  you 
really  think  so,"  said  his  friend,  sternly, 
that  you,  a  warm-hearted,  innocent  boy, 
can  justify  the  cold,  selfish  policy  of  that 
man,  who  Mi  his  wife  and  children  to 
starve,  when  his  own  wicked  extravagance 
had  brought  them  to  such  a  pass ;  do  not 
tell  me  so,  you  do  not  know  what  you  say : 


85'. 


but  the  end,  the  end  is  the  strange  part  of 
which  I  spoke.     This  man,"  — 

"Sir,  1  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Ellen,  as 
she  hurried  across  the  lawn  to  them,  "but 
if  you  are  equal  to  it,  Mr.  Vernon,  your  sis- 
ter is  here  and  would  like  to  see  youl" 
His  companion  started  to  his  feet,  and  grasp- 
ing the  back  of  his  chair,  grew  deadly  pale ; 
but  Stuart  heeded  him  not,  he  was  too 
much  excited  at  the  thought  of  seeing  his 
sister,  to  note  any  thing  else,  and  bade  Ellen 
bring  her  directly,  and  in  another  moment, 
Edith  was  kneeling  by  his  side,  with  his 
hands  fast  clasped  in  hers,  and  with  swim- 
ming eyes  gazing  in  his  face.  How  glad 
she  was  to  see  him,  and  yet  so  pained  to 
see  him  ill ;  how  she  kissed  the  hands  she 
held  so  closely,  lavishing  on  him  words  of 
atfection,  and  sometimes  gentle  reproaches, 
that  she  had  not  been  sent  for  before;  then 
stopping  his  mouth  with  kisses,  that  he 
might  not  talk  and  fatigue  himself,  and 
then,  during  a  long  pause,  gazing  earnestly 
and  sadly  m  his  pale  face;  —  and  he  was 
glad  to  see  her  too,  though  with  his  glad- 
ness there  was  mingled  a  little  shame;  he 
could  not  forget  his  last  request  to  her,  — 
8 


80 


illness  had  brought  with  it  its  attendant 
good,'  reflection, —  but  she  remembered  no- 
thing but  that  his  life  was  spared,  and  she 
again  beside  him. 

For  a  few  moments  they  forgot  they  were 
not  alone, —  they  knew  not  how  keenly  they 
were  watched.  With  his  hands  grasping 
the  chair,  stood  that  tall,  pale  man,  paler 
much  than  usual,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the 
kneeling  figure  before  him,  his  chest  heav- 
ing, and  his  lip  trembling  with  some  hidden 
emotion. 

Suddenly  Stuart  said,  '•'  Edith,  how  re- 
miss I  am,  I  ought  to  bid  you  thank  this 
gentleman  for  pulling  me  out  of  the  water, 
and  nursing  me  wuh  the  greatest  kind- 
ness ever  since  ;  thank  him,  dear."  Edith 
sprung  from  the  ground,  and  raising  her 
beautiful  eyes  to  the  pale  face  before  her, 
said,  •' I  cannot,  I  have  no  words!  but  he 
^vill  not  doubt  my  gratitude,  my  eternal 
gratitude, —  will  you?"  and  she  held  out 
her  little  hand  to  him.  He  took  it  eagerly, 
and  pressed  it  so  fervently  to  his  lips,  that 
she  blushingly  withdrew  it,  and  turned 
again  to  her  brother.  "  Ah  !  Edith,  indeed 
1  know  not  how  we  are  to  thank  Mr.  Mor- 


'•ONLY."  &f 

ley  enough  ;  I  'm  sure  you  M  have  had  no 
brother  but  for  him:  I've  no  more  idea  of 
swimming  than  a  stone,  I  must  have  gone 
to  the  bottom."  But  how  came  you  to  fall 
in,  dear  ?  "  "  Why,  like  a  goose,  I  tried  to 
pull  a  little  boat  into  shore,  it  escaped  my 
grasp,  my  foot  slipped  at  the  same  time,  and 
in  I  rolled  ;  but  he  really  has  been  so  kind, 
though, — he's  gone,"  he  continued,  as 
Edith'looked  round;  "don't  you  see  him 
■walking  away  there;  he's  such  an  odd  fel- 
low, so  moody  and  absent  at  times,  but  so 
kind  to  ^me,  quite  affectionate ;  then  he 's 
very  clever  and  amusing,  he  's  travelled  a 
great  deal,  and  he's  quite  a  book:  but  I 
say,  my  dear  girl,  now  we're  alone,  about 
my  abominable  bills,  what  on  earth  am  I  to 
do]  1  suppose  your  half  the  money  has 
been  sent,  as  my  ducking  prevented  me 
writing  about  the  other  arrangement." — 
"  Yes,  dear,  but  I  have  not  spent  a  farthing 
of  it."  "Oh,  you  little  angel,  —  have  you 
got  any  with  you  now?"  "Yes,  a  little." 
"  Well,  I  suppose  Mr.  Feversham  will  bring 
mine  next  time  he  comes,  but  in  the  mean 
while  I  don't  know  what  I  'm  to  do.  I  shall 
have  to  give  these  people  money  for  their 


88 


trouble,  but  I  won't  have  yours,  not  a  far- 
thing. I  think  my  accident  was  providen- 
tial, it  prevented  my  taking  that  money, 
I  've  learnt  since  my  illness  to  see  how  sel- 
fish it  was,  and  I  won't  do  it."  "Oh! 
Stuart,  don't  say  so,  dear,  how  are  your 
debts  to  be  paid  7  "  "  Well,  I  don't  know, 
I'm  sure,  never  mind,  it  makes  my  head 
ache  to  think  of  them,  let's  talk  of  some- 
thing else;  they  won't  hurt  if  I  never  pay 
them,  and  I'm  sure  it's  better  than  taking 
your  money.  Why,  after  all,  the  heaviest 
debt  I  have  is  '  only '  ten  pounds,  and 
what's  ten  pounds  to  old  Milman?  why 
he 's  driving  an  immense  business,  and 
would  not  miss  three  times  as  much;  then 
there's  Debbett,  well,  I  owe  him  five  or  six, 
and  he  won't  hurt;  Johnson  worries  me 
most,  because  he's  a  poor  devil,  and  I  do 
believe  wants  every  farthing;  but  if  the 
others  don't  send  and  plague  me  I  shall  be 
able  to  strike  him  off." 

"  But  how  have  you  managed  to  get  in 
such  debt,  my  dear  Stuart,  what  have  you 
bought  J  "  '•  Well,  that  "s  the  worst  of  it,  I 
don't  know;  the  fact  is,  it's  that  abominable 
liabit  the  trades-people  have  of  giving  cred- 


''ONLY."  gf 

it;  many  a  time  I  should  have  gone  without 
things  if  I  had  had  to  pay  for  them  ready 
money;  and  then  having  a  bill,  one  is  sure 
to  buy  the  dearest  thing,  as  'only'  a  shil- 
ling more  seems  nothing  when  one  does  not 
see  the  change  :  but  pray  do  not  let  us  talk 
any  more  about  it,  for  it's  made  me  feel 
quite  faint,  I  declare.  Call  Ellen,  dear,  I 
think  I  must  go  in  and  lie  down."  Gently, 
Ellen,  and  Edith  helped  him  towards  the 
house.  They  were  met  by  Mr.  Morley,  who, 
looking  anxiously  at  Stuart's  pale  face,  mo- 
tioned Ellen  away,  and  gave  his  stronger 
support  to  the  now  almost  fainting  boy; 
and  when  they  reached  the  house  he  took 
him  tenderly  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him 
to  his  couch,  nor  left  him  till  the  returning 
tinge  of  color  assured  him  he  was  recovered. 
He  then  walked  out  thoughtfully  on  the 
lawn,  and  drawing  some  papers  from  his 
pocket,  he  selected  from  them  a  crumpled 
letter,  and  opening  it,  looked  at  it  long  and 
carefully ;  its  words  were  very  few,  simply  : 
"  All  I  have  to  give  is  yours,  I  must  learn  to 
do  without.  Your  atlectionate  sister,  Edith 
Vernon."  "  A  good  lesson  to  learn,  my 
gentle  child,"  he  said,  "  but  by  the  help  ot 
8* 


90  '^ONLY." 

Heaven,  you  shall  never  have  to  practise  it. 
'All  1  have  is  yours,  I  must  learn  to  do 
without.'  Marian,  oh  !  Marian  !  this  is  too 
much  like  you,  this  yielding,  loving,  gentle 
nature,  which  has  no  strength,  no  courage 
to  rebuke  the  beings  that  it  loves,  or  refuse 
aught  they  ask,  though  the  demand  be 
fraught  with  evil  to  themselves  and  others. 
This  must  be  cured, — and  with  him,  too, 
there  is  much  to  eradicate,  that  dreadful 
recklessness,  that  want  of  thought  for  others 
which  bears  a  semblance  of  selfishness. 
Oh  !  Stuart,  you  are  too  much  your  father's 
mirror ;  in  another  week  I  should  think 
he  might  be  moved  home  to  Mr.  Fever- 
sham's  ;  then  must  the  trial  commence." 

During  this  time  Stuart  had  fallen  into  a 
light  sleep,  and  as  Ellen  and  Edith  sat  be- 
side him,  they  conversed  softly  together,  for 
Edith  rejoiced  in  the  opportunity  of  talking 
with  one,  who  knew  and  loved  that  dear 
mother,  still  so  fondly  remembered ;  and 
many  an  anecdote  of  her  childhood  had  El- 
len to  tell  her,  and  of  her  mother's  gentle 
affection.  '•  And  now,  Ellen,  tell  me  about 
yourself,  — I  have  a  grateful  recollection  of 
your  kindness  to  me  as  a  child,  and  always 


w 


shall  be  interested  in  you.  I  have  also  a 
dreamy  idea  that  we  used  to  meet  some  one 
in  our  walks,  whom  you  used  to  be  very 
pleased  to  see,  but  whom  I  disliked  much, 
because  when  you  met  him,  all  my  ques- 
tions were  unheeded  and  unanswered." 

Ellen  blushed  deeply,  and  said:  -'Joe, 
Miss,  I  dare  say,  we're  going  to  be  married 
in  a  week."  "  Indeed  !  to  that  very  person; 
you  have  been  very  constant  to  one  an- 
other." Joe  is  very  good.  Miss.  He  was 
very  bad  off  when  I  lived  with  you,  and 
I  was  trying  to  save  money  against  we 
should  ever  come  together;  but  leaving  so 
sudden,  and  father's  getting  into  trouble 
being  such  a  pull-back,  and  afterwards 
being  so  unfortunate  in  getting  a  place, 
I  told  Joe  not  to  think  about  me  any  more; 
and  we  did  not  see  nothing  of  one  another 
for  years,  and  when  the  trouble  grew  so 
heavy,  that  there  seemed  nothing  for  us 
but  the  workhouse,  Joe  wrote  and  said 
he  'd  got  a  place  for  father  and  mother,  and 
one  for  me,  at  least  a  friend  of  his  had  ; 
and  when  we  all  came  down  here,  (which 
was  the  situation  he  'd  got  for  father  and 
mother,)   to  look   after  this  place, —  when 


92  "ONLY." 

we  came  down,  we  found  Joe  here  to  meet 
us,  and  we  got  talking,  and  he  said  he  was 
just  the  same  mind  as  ever,  if  I  was ;  and 
so  1  'm  going  to  be  married  instead  of  going 
to  service,  Miss."  "  A  very  pleasant  ex- 
change, Ellen,  1  think ;  I  hope  you  will  be 
happy,  for  1  am  sure  you  deserve  to  be,  but 
do  you  know  1  really  must  go,  for  Miss 
Carysfort  is  alone  at  home,  and  her  mamma 
will  not  like  that  ?  Tell  dear  Stuart,  when  he 
wakes,  1  was  obliged  to  go,  and  that  1  shall 
drive  over  again  to-morrow:  "  and  pressing 
a  gentle  kiss  on  the  brow  of  her  sleeping 
brother,  she  slipped  some  money  into  El- 
len's hand,  and  ere  she  had  time  to  refuse 
it,  or  to  thank  her,  hurried  away  to  the  lit- 
tle pony  phaeton  waiting  to  receive  her,  and 
found  herself  at  home  before  she  deemed  it 
possible,  so  had  her  thoughts  been  occupied. 
Kate  flew  out  to  meet  her.  "  How  is  he  7 
how  is  your  poor  brother?"  "Oh!  he's 
much  better,  thank  you,  dear,  I  stole  away 
while  he  slept,  knowing  you  were  alone;  so 
as  I  have  had  so  short  a  time  with  him  to- 
day, I  shall  trespass  on  the  pony  phaeton 
and  the  good  oflices  of  Stamford  to-morrow." 
"Certainly,  dear,  and  now  tell  me,  are  you 

\ 


"ONLY."  93 

in  love  with  his  preserver?  Of  course  you 
are,  I  shall  hate  you  if  you're  not, —  be- 
cause you  '11  spoil  the  sweetest  romance." 
"  No,  dear,  I  am  not."  "  But  he  's  in  love 
with  you,  that  will  do  as  well."  "Neither 
one  nor  the  other  ;  he 's  a  charming  person, 
though,  and  I  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  you 
of  all  sorts ;  so  come  with  me  into  my  room, 
wiiile  I  take  off  my  things,  and  I  will  aston- 
ish you  with  an  unparalleled  tale  of  man's 
faith  and  woman's  constancy." 

"Delightful, — the  latter  I  shall  most 
readily  believe.  I  have  had  a  long  letter 
from  mamma,"  she  continued,  as  throwing 
her  arm  round  her  friend's  waist,  they  pro- 
ceeded up  stairs;  "and  she  says  she  shall 
be  home  on  Monday ;  she  is  dying  to  know 
how  we  got  down,  but  says  she  feels  tolera- 
bly sure  of  our  safety,  under  the  protection 
of  dear  old  hideous  Briggs  ;  for  she  is  quite 
certain  the  sight  of  her  was  enough  to  scare 
any  intruders." 

They  now  entered  Edith's  little  sanctu- 
ary, and  we  will  leave  them  there,  nor  ven- 
ture to  intrude;  but  taking  the  liberty  of 
hurrying  old  Time's  steady  paces,  pass  over 
a  week,  and  the  dawn  of  another  will  find 


94  ''ONLY." 

Stuart  back  in  the  Rectory,  Mrs.  Carysfort 
returned,  and  Ellen  Rawdon,  the  happy 
bride  of  her  long  loved  "  Joe." 

With  returning  health  the  buoyant  spirits 
of  youth  have  returned  to  Stuart  too,  and  he 
is  laughing  gaily  with  Kate  Carysfort,  who, 
with  his  sister,  are  in  the  pretty  library  at 
the  Rectory.  Mr.  Feversham  is  writing,  or 
trying  to  do  so,  repeatedly  raising  his  eyes 
to  the  really  pretty  group  before  him,  though 
they  are  most  frequently  fixed  on  one  of  the 
group,  the  graceful,  affectionate  sister,  who, 
seated  at  her  brother's  feet,  her  favorite 
position,  looks  anxiously  in  his  still  pale 
but  excited  face,  and  continually  checks  the 
somewhat  boisterous  mirth  of  her  joyous 
companion.  Kate  is  pretending  to  arrange 
some  flowers  in  a  vase,  from  a  large  basket 
she  holds  on  her  arm,  but  many  more  serve 
to  pelt  Stuart  than  to  adorn  the  vase ;  of 
course  he  throws  them  back  again,  and  the 
war  continues.  At  length  a  moss  rose  is 
thrown  at  him,  and  holding  it  up,  he  says, 
"  Do  you  know  what  this  means,  Miss 
Kate?  1  shall  keep  this."  "No,  I  don't 
iniderstand  such  folly,  a  rose  means  a  rose, 
I  suppose ;  you  are  quite  welcome  to  keep 


95 


it,  and  put  it  in  your  waistcoat  pocket  when 
it 's  dead,  and  let  it  go  to  a  number  of  wash- 
ings, as  all  you  foohsh  boys  do,  making  the 
poor  girls  imagine  you  value  and  preserve 
the  rubbish  they  give  you, —  I  know  you 
all  better.'' 

The  sound  of  voices  approaching  the 
house  stopped  the  games  for  a  moment,  and 
the  door  opening,  admitted  Mrs.  Carysfort 
and  Mr.  Morley. 

After  the  usual  salutations,  Mrs.  Carysfort 
said,  "  Mr.  Morley  and  I  are  old  acquaint- 
ances, —  the  gentleman  whom  I  told  you  I 
met  at  Mrs.  Murray  Fisher's."  "Indeed! 
mamma, "  answered  Kate,  with  some  em- 
phasis, and  whispering  to  Edith,  she  said, 
"  he's  decidedly  too  old  for  romance."  Be- 
fore Edith  could  reply,  Mr.  Feversham  beg- 
ged the  ladies  would  accompany  him  to  the 
drawing-room,  as  Mr.  Morley  had  come  on 
business  to  Stuart. 

Poor  Stuart  changed  color;  business  to 
him  had  an  awful  sound;  and  when  he 
found  himself  alone  with  Mr.  Morley,  he 
could  not  meet  the  eyes  he  felt  were  fixed 
upon  him. 

At  length  Mr.  Morley  said,  "You  must 


96 


excuse  all,  which  to  you  may  seem  imper- 
tinent in  what  I  am  going  to  say.  I  have  a 
purpose,  an  important  purpose  in  view, 
and  I  must  forget  all  else.  You  have  a 
small  income  I  believe  from  the  late  Mr. 
Feversham  ?  "  "Yes,  Sir,  a  very  small 
income,''  answered  Stuart.  "Your  sis- 
ter has  the  same  exactly?"  "Exactly, 
Sir."  "'  You  are  enabled  to  save  some- 
thing each  year  out  of  it?"  "I  have  not 
as  yet,  Sir."  "You  tind  it  impossible?" 
"  Yes,  Sir."  "  Your  sister  has  less  occasion 
to  spend  than  you ;  she  might,  perhaps,  do 
with  a  smaller  sum,  girls  are  not  so  expen- 
sive as  boys:  I  think  the  income  should  not 
have  been  equally  divided,  do  you  I  "  "  No, 
Sir,  I  don't  think  that  at  all;  I  think,  on  the 
contrary,  Edith  should  have  more,  much 
more  than  I,  she  makes  a  better  use  of  it." 
There  was  a  slight  movement  on  the  part 
of  his  interrogator,  and  a  pause;  h6  then 
continued,  "  I  won"t  deceive  you,  I  know 
your  position  well,  you  are  in  debt,  very 
much  in  debt,  and  your  creditors  are  becom- 
ing impatient;  these  debts  must  be  paid. 

"  What  think  you  of  asking  your  sister 
to  give  up  her  income  for  this  year  to  you, 


97 


and  going  into  a  situation  as  governess,  to 
earn  a  little  money  for  herself?  you  know 
some  sacrifice  must  be  made."  Stuart's 
face  grew  scarlet.  "Some  sacrifice,  yes, 
Sir,  but  my  sister  shall  not  be  the  victim 
my  good,  affectionate,  unselfish  sister :  how 
can  you  suggest  any  thing  so  cruel,  so  un- 
manly, to  me?"  "  It  is  a  painful  position, 
I  know,  but,  young  man,  as  your  heedless- 
ness has  placed  you  in  it,  you  must  at  some 
expense  to  your  own  feelings  escape  from 
it."  "  True,  Sir,  any  expense  to  my  own, 
I  am  willing  to  bear,  for  1  know  quite  well 
I  do  deserve  it;  but  not  to  my  sisters." 
"  What,  then,  is  to  be  done,  — in  my  pocket 
I  have  a  letter,  which  will,  I  think,  some- 
what shake  your  resolution."  "I  am  afraid 
of  no  threats,  Sir,  I  deserve  to  suffer,  and  I 
must."  "They  are  not  threats,  it  is  a  sup- 
plicating prayer  from  a  heart-broken,  ruined 
man  for  money,  for  his  starving  children 
and  his  dying  wife."  "Oh!  Sir,  the  few 
pounds  I  owe  could  ruin  no  one."  "  Your 
debt  is  the  drop  which  has  made  the  cup 
o'erflow:  the  letter  is  to  you,  opened  by  me 
at  the  urgent  request  of  the  bearer,  when 
you  were  too  ill  to  attend  to  it :  two  or  three 


OS 


other  strong  applications  came  also,  and  I 
paid  them  all.  It  is  awkward  to  urge  my 
claim  ;  bin  if  you  object  to  the  plan  1  named, 
may  1  apply  to  Mr.  Feversham?"  "Oh! 
no,  no,  r beseech  you  not, — by  his  father's 
generosity  we  are  preserved  from  positive 
beggary;  I  cannot  ask  him.  Orphans  as 
we  were,  without  friends,  without  a  home, 
he  found  us  home  and  means ;  what  would 
liave  become  of  us,  of  my  young  sister,  but 
for  him  V 

Mr.  iMorley  sprung  from  his  seat. 
"  Enough,  enough,  your  father  should  have 
provided  for  you.  1  know  it  was  hard,  and, 
—  do  not  remind  me  of  it ;  I,  —  I  knew  your 
father.'"' 

'•You  knew  my  father,  oh!  then  have 
pity  on  his  son,  indeed,  indeed,  I  will  repay 
you ;  but  do  not  apply  to  Mr.  Feversham,  I 
implore:"  and  in  his  excitement  the  poor 
boy  rose  from  his  couch,  and  seizing  Mr. 
Morley's  hand,  gazed  with  painful  anxiety 
in  his  face.  Hope  revived  in  his  heart  from 
that  earnest  gaze,  for  there  was  deep  emo- 
tion in  every  feature,  and  tears  in  the  eyes 
which  met  his.  '•  Boy,  "  at  length  he  said, 
"fear  nothing  from  me:  a  life,  a  long  life 


99 


of  error  has  been  mine  ;  how  can  I  be  hard 
upon  another,  that  other,  too,  a  youth  of 
sixteen,  when  I,  a  man  three  times  his  age, 
only  now  see  and  correct  the  fatal  folhes  to 
which  I  have  given  way?  No,  no,  my  boy, 
yon  are  now  free  of  the  world,  your  debts 
are  paid,  your  quarter's  income  untouched; 
begin  again,  remembering  that  it  is  a  cruel 
wrong,  not  only  to  the  poor  creatures,  whose 
goodS;  and  labor,  and  time,  you  take,  with- 
out repaying  them,  but  to  your  gentle,  lov- 
ing, unprotected  sister.  Your  reputation 
must  be  kept  intact  for  her  sake  in  the  first 
place ;  and  secondly,  if  you  exceed  your 
small  income,  you  must,  to-  preserve  that 
reputation,  encroach  on  hers,  and  leave  her 
without  comfort  and  even  necessaries. 

"  Take  this  lesson  home  to  your  heart, 
and,  my  boy,"  while  a  sweet  smile  stole 
over  his  sallow  face  as  he  spoke,  "  love  the 
physician  who  has  put  you  to  some  pain  to 
cure  a  very  fatal  disease.  Now  a  word  to 
your  sister,  and  I  have  done ;  I  leave  for 
London  on  important  business  this  after- 
noon, and  it  will  be  some  days  ere  we  meet 
again ;  let  me  hope  to  see  you  better  in 
health  and  calmer  in  mind.    God  bless  you, 


100 


my  boy  ! "  and  Mr.  Morley  had  left  the 
room,  ere  Stuart  could  recover  his  agitation, 
or  command  his  voice  to  thank  him. 

Edith  was  fortunately  alone  in  the  draw- 
ing-room when  Mr.  Morley  entered.  "  Well, 
Mr.  Morley,  how  do  you  think  my  brother 
is  looking?"  she  said.  ''Oh!  better,  much 
better,  he  is  a  little  tired  now  ;  we  have  been 
having  a  long  conversation,  and  I  must  con- 
clude it  with  you.  He  has  been  kind 
enough  not  to  think  me  impertinent,  and  I 
trust  you  will  be  equally  lenient ;  sit  down, 
my  story  is  a  long  one.  You  were  very 
young  when, —  when  you  were  left  an  or- 
phan." "Very  young,"  answered  Edith. 
"You  remember  your  mother?"  "Oh! 
yes,  indeed  I  do."  "And  your  father?" 
"No,  I  have  some  impression  of  seeing  him 
when  I  was  quite  a  baby  child.  —  but  it  is 
more  like  a  dream  than  any  thing  else." 
"He  died?"  "Yes,  I  think  so,  at  least 
now  you  ask  me,  I  remember  my  dear 
mother  never  mentioned  his  death,  indeed, 
never  spoke  of  him  at  all ;  and  an  old  ser- 
vant we  once  had,  told  me  not  to  ask  any 
questions  about  him,  for  it  made  mamma 


101 


"No  wonder,  my  dear,  no  wonder,  your 
father  left  your  mother,  and  you  too,  her 
helpless  children,  to  seek  his  fortune,  —  the 
fortune  he  had  recklessly  squandered,  —  in 
another  land,  —  left  you  friendless  and  pen- 
niless, to  the  mercy  of  the  cold  world  ;  but 
the  mighty  Ruler  of  that  world,  the  Friend 
of  earth's  forsaken,  of  the  poor  and  wretch- 
ed, raised  you  up  a  protector  in  Mr.  Fe- 
versham,  and  you  were  cared  for,  and 
comforted  by  him :  but  your  father  did  not 
know  this,  and  when  the  ocean  divided  him 
from  his  poor  wife,  when  the  first  excite- 
ment passed  away,  and  calm  reflection 
came,  there  came  with  it  all  the  agony  of 
remorse ;  he  tried  to  smother  it,  tried  to 
think  that  he  was  doing  right;  what  could 
he  do  at  home  ?  that  he  was  better  where 
he  was;  but  still  conscience  permitted  him 
no  rest;  in  his  waking  moments,  in  his 
dreams,  horrid  pictures  of  his  dying  wife, 
dying  without  perhaps  the  necessaries  of 
life,  haunted  and  agonized  him;  and  ere  the 
voyage  was  over,  he  had  made  a  vow  to 
Heaven,  that  work,  hard  work,  should,  if 
possible,  redeem  the  money  he  had  wasted, 
and  prayed  that  Heaven  to  grant  he  might 
9* 


102 


be   enabled  to  reward  his  wife  for  all  she 
had  suffered  for  his  sake. 

'•  But  the  sin  was  not  so  easily  to  be 
wiped  away  ;  the  torture  of  mind  he  had 
endured  was  not  punishment  enough;  hard- 
er still  was  the  hopeless  agony  of  finding 
himself  thwarted  in  every  employment  he 
attempted.  It  is  useless  to  dilate  on  all  he 
suffered,  sickness,  shipwreck,  perils  of  all 
kinds,  ever  aggravated  by  the  vision  of  his 
wife,  which  never,  for  a  moment,  in  those 
long  years  left  him  !  Useless  and  painful 
to  you  I  say,  would  it  be,  to  dilate  on  all 
this,  —  suffice  it,  that  though  in  a  hard  and 
bitter  school,  he  learnt  a  valuable  lesson,  he 
learnt  the  immeasurable  good,  he  might 
have  done  with  the  property  he  had  once 
possessed,  and  he  learnt  by  his  own  experi- 
ence the  misery  he  had  often  inflicted  on 
others,  by  the  non-payment  of  their  just 
demands.  In  the  grand  forests  where  he 
often  wandered  alone,  he  had  time  for  deep 
reflection,  and  he  found  in  those  silent  med- 
itations, how,  in  pursuing  the  shadow,  he 
had  lost  the  substance.  At  length,  he  de- 
termined to  return  once  more  to  England, 
and  see  if  his  wife  still  lived,  and  press  her 


ONLY.  " 


10^ 


and  his  children  once  more  to  his  heart;  and 
after  a  prosperous  voyage,  stood  again  on 
his  native  shore ;  but  who,  in  the  sickly, 
impoverished  man,  could  ever  have  recog- 
nized the  once  gay  and  handsome  Vernon? 
Broken  in  health  and  spirit,  he  had  no 
strength    to   get   further   than  the  sea-port 

where  he  landed,  and  now " 

''Now  he  is  poor,  sick,  and  alone  in  some 
wretched  lodging,"  said  the  poor  girl,  who, 
with  a  face  of  deadly  paleness,  had  drank 
in  every  word  ;  "  oh  !  for  pity's  sake  tell  me 
where,  and  let  his  child  go  to  him,''  "  Gen- 
tly, gently,  dear  Miss  Vernon,  be  calm  and  I 
will  go  on ;  you  have  a  small  allowance,  I 
believe,  of  your  own,  you  have  just  drawn 
the  quarter,  have  you  not?"  "Yes,  yes, 
all  shall  be  his,  only  lose  no  time,  I  beseech 
you."  "  Good  and  generous  child,  he  will 
bless  you  for  this  love ;  but  have  you  no 
calls  on  you  for  this  money?"  "  What  so 
imperative  as  a  father's  need?"  answered 
Edith,  but  as  she  spoke,  she  stopped  sud- 
denly, and  a  flush  of  crimson  covered  her 
face  —  her  brother  !  The  change  of  coun- 
tenance was  not  unmarked  by  him,  who 
was   watching  her   so  narrowly.      "  Yes, 


104  -'ONLY." 

think  again,"  he  said:  "a  young  lady's 
visit  to  London  must  have  made  some  in- 
roads on  her  purse."  "Oh!  no,  no,  I 
assure  you,  I  have  not  spent  a  farthing  of 
this  quarter's  money,  save  a  small  sum  I 
gave  to  Ellen  Rawdon  for  her  care  of  Stu- 
art; not  sixpence  on  myself,  I  assure  you." 
''Indeed!  —  then  you  must  have  had  some 
purpose  in  saving  it  so  carefully.  Pardon 
me,  but  I  cannot  let  you  be  unjust  to  your- 
self: your  father  would  never  ibrgive  me  : 
some  charitable  purpose  is  your  aim,  per- 
haps ?  "  "  Yes,  —  No,  —  "  said  Edith, 
hesitatingly,  and  then  looking  up  in  his  face 
suddenly,  she  took  his  hand:  '-you  are 
kind,  benevolent,  I  feel  you  are,  I  may  trust 
you  :  Stuart,  my  brother,  is,  —  is  very 
young,  has  no  father,  no  mother,  to  protect, 
to  guide  him."  "1  know,  I  know,"  an- 
swered Morley  earnestly  :  "  but  he  is  a  good 
boy,  a  fine  hearted  boy."  "Yes,  yes,  in- 
deed, he  is —  but  he  is  generous,  and  his  in- 
come has  not  suliiced  him."  "  1  see,  he  is 
in  debt,  and  your  money  has  been  saved  for 
him.  Debt  at  his  age!  this  is  very  shame- 
ful, very  dishonest !  "  "  Oli !  do  not  say 
that,    he   is  so  young  —  he   is  'only'  six- 


"  ONLY."  105 

Only  sixteen,  so  young !  is  he  not 
old  enough  to  die  7  then  he  is  old  enough  to 
live  an  honest  life,  that  he  may  not  fear  to 
die." 

Edith  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  Mr. 
Morley  continued,  "  Then,  as  you  have 
promised  this  money,  of  course  it  must  be 
given;  your  poor  father  can  only  have  him- 
self to  blame,  when  he  hears  his  son's  debts 
keep  from  him  the  little  pittance  so  gener- 
ously offered  by  his  daughter."  '•  Oh  !  no, 
don't  tell  him  that,  I  know  not  what  to  do," 
and  poor  Edith  burst  into  tears.  "  My  dear 
girl,  had  you  exerted  a  little  more  resolution 
you  would  not  have  been  placed  in  this  try- 
ing position  :  your  brother  loves  you  dearly, 
and  it  only  needed  that  you  should  first 
have  used  your  influence  to  preserve  him 
from  this  sad  recklessness,  and  if  that  had 
failed,  have  had  the  proper  courage  to  re- 
fuse, in  justice  to  yourself,  to  resign  all  your 
little  money  for  his  need :  once  lose  your 
own  dignity,  or  give  up  your  sense  of  right 
and  justice,  and  you  lose  the  respect  of 
those  you  would  serve,  the  capability  of 
serving  them,  and  finally  their  love."  For 
a  second  or  two  uninterruptedly  she  wept 


106  "ONLY." 

on,  —  and  then  she  felt  her  head  gently 
pressed  to  a  throbbing  heart,  and  heard  a 
voice,  so  altered  by  emotion  that  she  scarce- 
ly recognized  it  as  Mr.  Morley's,  say,  — 
'•Hush!  hush!  my  darling  child!  I  can- 
not bear  to  see  you  cry  ;  you  have  nothing 
to  weep  for  now,  your  brother's  debts  are 
all  paid."'  •'  Paid  ! "'  exclaimed  Edith,  with 
a  bright  smile  gleaming  like  sunshine 
through  her  tears.  "  Oh  !  to  whom  are  we 
so  indebted  ? ''  '•  To  your  father,  my  child, 
—  the  right  person  to  come  to  the  aid  of  his 
deserted  children,  and  who  is  only  too  much 
blessed  in  being  permitted  to  do  so,  and  has 
but  one  hope,  that  his  angel  wife  knows  he 
is  striving  to  redeem  the  injury  he  wrought 
her." 

Edith  raised  her  head,  and  catching  the 
arm  that  supported  her,  gave  one  long,  long 
look  in  the  face  which  was  gazing  into 
her"s,  and  sobbed,  '-Speak  —  again.  —  do 
not  deceive  me  —  you,  —  you  are  my  fa- 
ther !  "  There  was  no  need  of  reply,  the 
earnest  pressure  to  that  beating  heart  was 
answer  enough, —  and  all  consciousness  left 
her,  till  the  murmur  of  voices  and  low  sobs 
aroused  her  ;  and  she  found  herself  support- 


()M,Y.' 


107 


ed  by  Mrs.  Carysfort  and  Kate,  and  Stnart 
locked  in  his  fatiier's  arms. 

Years,  years  have  rolled  away, —  sum- 
mer and  winter,  day  and  night,  have  kept 
their  unwearied,  unchanging  course,  but 
many  a  change  have  they  brought  on  the 
personages  in  this  httle  history ;  Martin 
Rawdon  and  his  wife  he  beneath  the  green 
sod  of  the  peaceful  village  church  of  Carys- 
foot,  and  Joe  and  Ellen,  with  a  large  family 
of  little  children,  are  living  in  the  heart  of 
London ;  Joe  working  hard,  with  the  pros- 
pect of  retirement  in  the  country  in  his  and 
Ellen's  declining  days. 

Stuart  Vernon,  the  Stuart  Vernon,  hating 
the  world  as  much  as  he  had  ever  loved  it, 
leads  an  anchorite  life  near  the  Rectory, 
with  his  fine  devoted  manly  son  for  a  com- 
panion; —  Edith  having  been  induced  once 
more  to  cheer  the  Rectory,  with  her  sweet 
beaming  face,  as  the  happy  wife  of  Mr.  Fe- 
versham,  and  Kate  Carysfort,  the  proud 
belle  of  the  little  village,  the  man-hater,  is 
living  a  life  of  single  blessedness,  for  love  of 
the  fine  face  and  finer  heart  of  Stuart,  the 
good  afiectionate  son ;  but  we  may  comfort 


!()S  ••ONLY." 

all  sympathizing  readers,  by  assuring  them 
that  we,  who  are  behind  the  scenes,  know 
that  when  Stnart  was  once  assured  of 
this  fact,  as  say  a  wedding  took  place  in 
that  little  village  as  ever  before^or  after  has 
disturbed  its  quiet  routine. 

The  elder  Vernon's  life  had  been  a  lesson 
to  all  who  knew  him,  and  never  did  they 
who  surrounded  him  forget  it ;  they  never 
ceased  to  remember  that  "Only"  had  been 
the  rock  on  which  his  richly  freighted  bark 
of  happiness  was  wrecked,  and  carefully 
avoided  it :  and  he  never  lost  an  opportuni- 
ty of  impressing  on  them  that  trifles  sum- 
med up,  make  at  last  a  heavy  total;  that 
the  best  ambition  was,  not  to  be  envied  by 
their  fellow-creatures  for  their  wealth  and 
influence,  but  respected  by  them  for  having 
thoroughly  practised  the  high  precept  to 
"Owe  no  man  anything," — ever  bearing 
in  mind  that  a  day  will  come  when  all  will 
be  expected  to  "  give  an  account  of  their 
stewardship." 


10 

06- 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


HIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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